Ma Petite Lionne
by Chained Dove
Summary: Before when I said I was not a little girl I was laughed at gently and tucked into bed with a glass of warm milk and an innocent kiss to dream the sort of golden dreams only little girls are blessed with. I am no longer little he has stolen my childhood.
1. Prologue: Commencement

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~ (1)

Prologue: Commencement (2)

Hi!  Anyone wondering what the numbers up there are?  Well, every time I speak French in this story (and that will be mightily often as the main character speaks not a word of English at the beginning) or refer to French culture I will give you a number… at the end of the chapter, look for that number in the footnotes, and you can have a translation!  Makes things easier for those of you not blessed with the gift of languages. *blush* I don't want to scare you away with the many phrases in French and culture shock, yet I feel the main character's native land and language must figure heavily into the plot for it to give the full effect!   So enjoy yourselves!  The story will be told in flashback, meaning this prologue actually takes place near the end of our tale, which means from this point on I will utilize past tense, and not present… the rating is for language (much of it in French) and violence… I shall attempt to write a story with no romance in it, at least not directly.  Bonne chance! (3)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the brainchild of the magnificent J.K. Rowling.  Gabrielle is her brainchild too, I suppose, but she only just mentioned her.  I only borrowed her and expanded on the subject…

"It was your eyes that gave you away, you know," he says softly, his snakelike face giving a hideous attempt at kindness.  "Such little girls do not have such ancient eyes."  I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips tightly together before I can retort, telling him I'm not a little girl.  Before when I said so I was laughed at gently and tucked into bed with a glass of warm milk and an innocent kiss to dream the sort of golden dreams only little girls are blessed with.  Now I am truly no longer a little girl.  It is his fault; he has stolen my childhood.

            "Won't you say anything?" he asks, anger slipping in between his slick words.  "Come, beg me again.  If you do, I might let you die painlessly… maybe."  I press my lips and eyelids closer together, though it doesn't stop a tear from slipping out and falling from my cheek like a diamond in the dark, damp room.  If there is one thing I learned in the past year, it was how to die with dignity.  I wonder how long he will play with me before he snaps me in two; I wonder how long before he discovers he will not snap my spirit.

            "Are you deaf, you stupid child?  Do you wish to die screaming?"

            I keep my eyes closed.  It is better than looking at his horrible, emotionless eyes, ruby eyes that only light up with fevered feeling when something dies.  I shake my head furiously, feeling him try to slip his ice-cold control like a net over my mind.  It is strange that he is spending so long on one little girl.  The first time, he didn't bother playing nearly as much.  I have changed.

He has changed too.

            I hear him curse softly, and dare to slit one eye open just in time to see him raise his wand.  I have heard the words before, and brace myself for the unbelievable pain that comes with them.  Still, I can't help myself and I scream, my young, high-pitched voice reverberating off the stone walls.  I want to die.

            The pain ends as abruptly as it began and I look up through one teary eye.  The other has swollen shut, and in the moments between the intense pain I find the constant dull throbbing even more horrible.  I don't think he guesses that a black eye can hurt more than the Cruciatus Curse, but it was not he that blackened it, and the pain is different.  This pain is real, and I hold on to it, because I love the one who caused it.

            "Tell me," he hisses.

Again I shake "no", my once-neat gilt pigtails a frizzy, bloodied mess about my head.

I am prepared this time, and still I scream.  I wonder, if my sister saw me now, whether she would say I am a childish crybaby.  I wonder with a mind that is oddly detached from the horrors that my body is experiencing whether I will lose consciousness soon, and whether he will wait for me to wake up before he begins again.  Even as I heave to bring up food which I have long lost to the cramping in my stomach, my mind grows stronger as my body dies, and I remember.

I remember especially, one day, waking up wet and confused in the middle of a lake, and concerned green eyes, and a boy asking me if I am all right in a language I don't understand.

"_Tell me!"_

I remember endless rain, and a place of so many colors it does not seem quite real.  I remember laughing so hard my sides ache, and rolling in the wet grass, clutching at a badly cramping stomach from all my laughter, and wonder if it is really so different.

I remember waking up from the horrid green-tinged nightmares and being cuddled in my mother's arms as she assures me I'm all right.

I remember bright green eyes, his, and hers, and the ones I see when I look in the mirror.

There is a reprieve from the pain and I look up.

"Why won't you speak?  Do you not understand me saying I shall _kill you?"_

I would not have understood a year ago, but I do now.  Still, I say nothing.  He takes this to mean yes and switches into my native tongue, the beautiful words marred by his hissing pronunciation.  "Tu mourras bientôt, ma petite.  Dites-moi maintenant, et la douleur va finir.  Alors?" (4)

I shake my head again, feeling as though my brains are rattling around in my head, refusing to open my mouth lest I spill out everything I promised myself I would not say.  It will not be so very much longer, and I am nearly at a point of no longer caring.  I have heard people are driven mad by this, and wonder if I retain my sanity.

He is angrier still now, angrier than he was five minutes ago.  His fury escalates by the moment.

It is funny how differently this began, how I shrugged it off as yet another soft dream from my childhood, somewhat blurred around the edges, and allowed Fleur to calm me down with a song sung in a surprisingly husky voice.  I remember that song; it was a song about a little bird being held by a cruel tormenter, and in childhood I had found it soothing.

It is funny yet sad, and I begin to cry tears of helplessness as I remember the words even as I writhe on the ground.  "Alouette, gentille alouette; alouette, je te ploumerais…" (5)  But it hurts, oh, it hurts badly to be divested of one's feathers.  I do not know why I smiled and drifted off to sleep to it that night, instead of asking for a kinder song.

Children are the cruelest of creatures.

"_PARLE!" (6)_

I am snapped back to the present and I am unable to help myself.  My mind is tired, and I can no longer fight his direct commands.  I look up at him from one eye, touch my small fingers to the other which aches now that the horrible cramping is gone, and I open my mouth.  "Non." (7)

My name is Gabrielle Lys Delacour.

This is my story.

Footnotes:

(1)My Little Lioness

(2)Beginning

(3)Good luck!

(4)"You are to die presently, my little one.  Tell me now, and the pain will stop.  Well?"

(5)"Skylark, skylark, pretty skylark; skylark, skylark, I shall pluck your feathers."  Ironically enough, this really IS the opening phrase for a French children's song.  I was appalled when I first heard it, but now I guess I understand.  After all, the baby at the end of "Rockabye Baby" falls from a treetop to very likely break his little neck, yet American mothers sing it to their children…

(6)"_SPEAK!"_

(7)"No."

That's it!  Read and review, please!  Flames are accepted, believe it or not.  I'd rather have constructive criticism than no comments at all, so if you didn't like it, by all means tell me!  I'll attempt to better it next time around!


	2. Chapitre Un: Souvenirs du Mer

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Un: Souvenirs du Mèr(1)

Back!  Told you this would be up ASAP!  All right, we'll rewind here, rewind to the beginning of the "story" that Gabrielle wishes to tell, a story that ends, in her eyes, with her being tortured by Lord Voldemort.  Why?  There were clues in the prologue, and in the true footsteps of J.K. Rowling I will attempt to add clues to every chapter, but I doubt you will have any earthly clue what I mean by them until one moment, you're reading and are suddenly struck down with the idea… I look forward to it happening. *grins* All of the conversation will be taking place in French (remember, there's a translation in the footnotes) until Gabrielle learns English. *grins*  Since there is less talk and more description, the majority is still definitely in English.  Remember-reviews are good for the mind, the body, and especially the soul!  C'mon, I promise it gets a little more comprehensible when you get further in… question for any and all so enlightened by the way-who said Lily's last name was Evans?

This chapter is dedicated to Vicky-chan, who understands the beauty behind a not-perfect bishounen… *cries over Percy from Sol Bianca some more*

Disclaimer: Not my books, yadda yadda, my story, yadda yadda, don't steal my idea (I haven't seen this done before) without crediting me… and that's it.  Enjoy!

            It was unbearably hot the day that Fleur came home.  It was always so in the middle days of June, when the cicadas sang their songs at night, so loudly that Tante Marguerite (2) complained constantly that it was far too loud to sleep.  Fleur had come back with similar views the past few years.  The cicadas were too loud, and the sound of the sea just over the hills to the south was too wild during a storm, through the southern wall that was made almost entirely of glass, making it appear like our furniture and the well-polished tile floors simply ended and the yellow-green grass in its sandy soil began.

            I had not yet grown out of the charm of our ancestral seaside home, a château (3) hidden somewhere between Toulon and Marseilles (4) on the Côte d'Azur (5).  I had always found the songs of the cicadas soft and comforting, lulling me off to sleep along with the distant roar of the sea.

            That day, it was hot and perfectly still.  Even the sounds of the sea seemed dulled by the heavy air and I knew that it would storm before nightfall, and I would be able to stand by the glass wall and feel a part of the chaos that even the strongest magic would never control, and feel lightheaded, dizzy, and free.  The fixation with storms was something that had come in my earliest childhood from spending many hours playing in the southeast tower, a tower enchanted and made entirely of glass so that I felt like I was floating.  Maman (6) had never understood how I could sit in that tower during a storm, but I had felt eerily at home among the savage beauty as I acted out doll weddings and tea parties to the music of the wind.  No one had used this room since Papa (7), who had built it.  I had had his head for heights, Maman and Fleur both said, but I didn't remember the man who had disappeared from my life when I had been less than three.  Sometimes, in my dreams, I caught glimpses of laughing black eyes and dark hair, the swarthy skin that neither my sister or I had inherited, and a smile made even more brilliant by the darkness of the face.  I had nothing but the dreams of him, and childhood wounds healed fast; I could laugh freely with Maman, Fleur and any friends that either of them had invited for dinner, even when the friends were Maman's, and male.

            It was from the glass tower, as I watched the sea, still as a turquoise mirror, that I saw an unfamiliar car roll imperiously into the main gates which opened silently, meaning only one thing-a member of my family had to be inside.  I squealed and let my doll drop, rushing down the winding stairs, my hair a carefree tangle of silvery gold curls behind me.  I paused to catch my breath in the doorway, calling inside to my mother: "Maman!  Maman!  Fleur est arrivée!" (8) just as Fleur was helped out of the car by a good-looking dark-haired boy which I assumed was her flavor of the week.  I wondered where she had managed to pick him up, when she had only returned to France from Hogwarts a week ago, and he had not been one of the select few who had witnessed the Triwizard Tournament.  I watched my sister lean in, give him a friendly kiss on the cheek, and then turn to scoop me into her arms.  I remarked the dazed expression on the boy's face, knowing he would be thinking about that innocent kiss for days to come, completely unaware that the ever-affectionate Fleur had meant nothing by it.

            I laughed as my sister swung me into the air, and kissed her soundly on each cheek as soon as she gave me the chance.  "Tu as grandi depuis le mois dernier?" (9) she asked me with a laugh, her voice soft and loving.  "Tue es plus lourde que t'étais en Angleterre!" (10)

            I laughed too, even as Maman, her lovely pale blonde hair pulled into a neat knot at the back of her head, appeared from inside the house, wiping her hands on the ruffled apron she wore and managing to look perfectly stunning while doing so.  She had been baking, preferring her own hands to those of the house-elves on the first day of Fleur's return.  It had been a family tradition since before I could remember.

            Fleur hugged Maman, pressing me between them, and I would realize at a later time that I had been perfectly happy at that precise moment.  "Merci, Jean-Luc," (11) said Fleur, finally turning back to the boy who didn't seem to know what to think when the ice queen that my sister was rumored to be among her admirers turned into a loving, happy girl.  He had unloaded her huge school trunk from his car, and was now looking unsure of what to do with himself.

I was silent as Maman was introduced, and Jean-Luc, looking more besotted by the moment, kissed her knuckles.  Maman and Fleur were very nearly identical, and since witches aged so much slower, she didn't look much older than my sister did.

            When he turned to me and Fleur introduced us, I stuck my hand out prettily and he shook it.  "Mignonne," (12) was his comment, and I realized as I looked down at my faded tee-shirt and shorts in the Muggle style that I would never match my mother and sister's ethereal grace.

            I had always known I was not the beauty Fleur was, though in an ordinary family I would have been considered a very pretty child.  My hair was the same pale gold of my mother and sister, but instead of being a smooth, airy curtain down my back, it had disappointed by showing definite signs of curl from my first moments in this world.  Now, the gilt curls tumbled nearly to my waist in a riot of color, and Maman constantly complained of having to brush them.  I liked my hair best plaited into two pigtails and out of my way when I ran and played, though my sister constantly tried to coax me to wear it loose.  I had not allowed Maman to braid it this morning to please her, and as a result it was tangled by the sticky and salty ocean air.

            Though I shared with my family the heart-shaped face, high arched brows, and pale skin that we had all gotten from my veela grandmother, my face was simply not as defined as Maman's or Fleur's.  My nose, instead of being straight and classical, turned up at the end.  I was constantly burning my sensitive skin, and to my mother's abject horror one or two freckles had popped up on my nose.  My knees were scabbed as often as not, my clothing nearly sent the house-elves into fits when they had to wash it, and most strangely of all, my lashes were nearly transparent and matched my hair, while Fleur's were velvety and black, and my eyes were decidedly green, not blue, which fact had mystified Maman since she, her four sisters, my twelve female cousins, and my newborn niece all had blue eyes.  Even Tante Marguerite, the most disagreeable of the lot, who had not inherited the veela looks but the temper, still had lovely blue eyes, even if she was rather plump and dark-haired.

            I knew I was not ugly, but in the presence of Maman and Fleur "mignonne" was the best I could hope for.

            I was relieved when Fleur explained that she wanted to spend her first day back with her family, and managed to neatly corner Jean-Luc by his car until he had no choice but to say he hoped he'd see her soon, get in, and drive away, staring at her soulfully the entire time.  He would send her roses when he came to himself; the house was always full of flowers.

            With a grin, Fleur swung me up in her arms once again, causing me to giggle and clutch her around the neck of her pale blue silk robes.  I had thought then that there was nothing prettier than these robes, and that I would wear them in two years, the summer I turned eleven.  I knew that I was already as good as accepted into Beauxbatons Academy of Magic because I had been showing signs of strong magical power since before I could walk, meaning there were always accidents of one kind or another in the house.  Maman had always taken it in due course, and Tante Marguerite pronounced me a walking disaster.  Still, Madame Maxime had noticed me when we had met at Hogwarts, and remarked aside to my mother that I seemed an exceptionally bright child, as though that was the best that could be said of me.

            As the three of us entered the house in cheerful good spirits, the house-elves were already rushing out to get Fleur's trunk before it rained, squeaking that they were worried that "Mademoiselle's" (13) robes would be spoiled by the outside air or, heaven forbid, the rain if it came early.

            The three of us ended up in the dining room, and with a flick of her wand, Fleur lit up the candles in the high chandelier.  It was then that I realized she had graduated and was an adult witch, no longer hampered by underage wizarding law.  It didn't occur to me then that it would change everything, because it had been the same ever since I could remember.  Fleur was nearly ten years my elder, and had always disappeared in September and returned in June, going to school, coming back with loads of homework, a smile, and new robes and hair accessories from Paris which she used over the summers to saunter around in Marseilles, attracting men like flies, wizard and Muggle alike.

            "Je t'ai achetée un cadeau," (14) Fleur said to me, her eyes twinkling.  Instantly I was at her side, even as she raised her wand.  "Accio cadeau pour ma petite soeur avide," (15) she said with a laugh, and a long, thin package burst out of her trunk and came into her hands.  I ignored the remark about my greed and ripped it open, squealing when I saw a brand-new broomstick.  "Ce n'est pas le plus chèr, mais j'ai lu qu'il est rapide." (16)  She ruffled my hair.  "Tu ne dois pas voler dans la maison, d'accord?" (17)

            I nodded happily, even as my mother informed my sister she was spoiling me.

            The rest of the night passed in reminiscences and laughter.  The only shadow came over Fleur's face as she talked about the last day of the tournament.  I remembered, because I had been there, but it was tinged with fuzzy lack of details just like my dreams, and I had forgotten as quickly as I could make myself about the boy who had been killed, the boy I had seen alive only weeks ago.  In my perfect world, tragedy was not a tangible emotion.

            I was glad, though, very glad that Harry Potter, the boy with green eyes who had pulled me out of the lake, had lived.  Cedric Diggory was just a name; Harry Potter had somehow managed to become a friend, though we had not spoken a word to each other, as I did not understand his language.  On the last day of the tournament when we had been in England, he had waved and winked at me before rejoining that strangely appealing rowdy red-haired family which I knew was not his own.  I remembered him and smiled, because he had made me want to smile.

            Fleur told me he had asked about me and told her to tell me hello, which made me happy.  I demanded that she help me write him a letter in English, and she teased that I only wished to tell my friends that I was corresponding with the famous Harry Potter.  We bantered back and forth before Maman announced that it was time for little girls to be in bed, and shooed me off to sleep.

            I crawled under my covers, hugging my new broomstick like an old friend, and made Fleur laugh when she came in with a glass of warm milk and a peppermint pastry she had just "happened" to sneak for me from the kitchen, as Maman did not approve of sweets after dinner.

            She smoothed my hair as I devoured my snack, then kissed me on the forehead.  "Je t'aime," (18) she said softly.  "Bonne nuit." (19)

            Overhead, the storm broke.

            Looking back, I realize that was the last truly happy day of my life.

Footnotes:

(1)Chapter One: Memories of the Sea

(2)Aunt Marguerite (Marguerite means Daisy)

(3)Castle or palace

(4)Two cities on the coast of the Mediterranean in the southeast of France.  Marseilles is very large, and a major port.

(5)Azure Coast (the coast of the Mediterranean)

(6)Mommy or Mom

(7)Daddy or Dad

(8)"Mommy!  Mommy!  Fleur has arrived!"

(9)"Have you grown since last month?"

(10)"You're heavier than you were in England!"

(11)"Thank you, Jean-Luc."

(12)"Cute."

(13)"Miss'" or "Mistress'"

(14)"I bought you a present."

(15)"Accio present for my greedy little sister."

(16)"It's not the most expensive, but I read that it's fast."

(17)"You mustn't fly in the house, all right?"

(18)"I love you."

(19)"Good night."

OK!  That's it!  Sorry for the maddening amount of French, I'm trying to keep conversation to a relative minimum until we get into England again… hope you liked!  Review review review!


	3. Chapitre Deux: Reves d'une Tete d'Or

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Deux: Rêves d'une Tête d'Or (1)

I'm back again!  This story is coming up fast!  It's because I've wanted to write it since forever *lol* I've just now gotten started!  Hopefully I will keep working this fast (though current fans of "Who We Are" are complaining I don't work nearly this fast on _that story…) and meantime, I hope you enjoy my newest chapter!  French in spades, grandmother's house, and ever so many hints at things you can't begin to guess… have a great time, keep hating (or loving, as the case may be) me for the French lessons (I had one hell of a time with verb tenses here…), and remember to leave a review!_

This chapter is dedicated to Dramaqueen, who is letting me illustrate her MWPP ficcy.  Yay!!!

Disclaimer: Erm… I didn't invent Harry Potter?  Or veela… I definitely didn't invent veela…

            For the first time in my life, I dreamed in English.  It was a dream in which I seemed to slip in and out of reality.  At times the colors were so vivid and the sensations so real that I felt that certainly when I was awake I was in truth dreaming, and this dream was true reality; at other times everything was fuzzy on the edges of my vision and I knew that I must be dreaming.  It was cool, cool as it was here in early spring, but I could tell by the rustling foliage above that it was summer.  I stood in my white nightdress in the damp grass, and at that moment I felt the dew on my bare feet very clearly and shivered.

            I was in a deep forest of some sort, and I was not alone.  A man with a frightening bearing that screamed of power stood surrounded by a circle of others, whose heads were bowed in reverence or fear, I couldn't tell which.  Every one of them wore a black cloak with a deep cowl, and I saw no faces.

            "She lives," hissed a voice, a voice I now know well, but then I did not recognize at all.  It was a voice horribly devoid of humanity, of compassion, even at eight years old I realized that it was not a good voice and began to be frightened.  "I feel her in my blood, and her presence pains me."  I realized they were not speaking French, realized also that I understood, and the fear diminished in the sheer delight of knowing the language that Harry Potter spoke on a daily basis.

            "But… but My Lord… how can you…"

            "Fool," he said mildly.  "Harry Potter is in my blood and therefore she…" things began to swim, and although the two voices continued to speak, my understanding of the English language faltered, and I missed the next few sentences.

            I closed my eyes against the dizzying onslaught of fuzziness, and even the damp feeling of my bare feet disappeared.  I pinched my arm hard, and everything pitched and was thrown into focus.  I wobbled, but I once again understood.  "…have no idea where she is, but she must be found.  Only she can tell me what I need to know, and she is a risk I am not willing to take."

            One of the black-garbed figures raised her heavily accented Scottish voice timidly.  "But My Lord… she canna be so very old now… how could one little girl-"

            "You dare to defy my orders directly?" he asked her, thunder rumbling underneath his deceptively calm voice.

            The figure cringed, and the circle stepped in, filling her space.  "Nay, my Lord, of course not, it's just that-"

            The figure in the middle of the circle raised his wand and, with a smile showing in his voice for the first time, whispered the words "Avada Kedavra."  The clearing filled with a rushing sound and a green light that hurt my eyes and my heart.  I heard the woman scream, and then she fell to the ground.  I did not need to be closer to know that she was dead.

            Then I saw only his face, and eyes the color of dried blood, and he looked in my direction and fastened those eyes on me.  With a cruel light in his eyes, he smiled, and our surroundings changed, but I still faced him and didn't pay attention to what they were, and there was a plaintive cry, as though from the wind or a baby, and then he raised his wand at me.  It was then that I screamed too, long and loud and frantic.

            I felt something latch on to me to hold me down and I struggled frantically, my hands wildly lashing out to strike anywhere I could land a blow.  "_IL VA ME TUER!  AIDEZ-MOI!!!"  (2) I would not calm myself until I opened my eyes and found that I was struggling with my sister, whose eye looked a bit swollen.  She had a strained look on her face and a rip in the shoulder of her pale pink nightgown.  She was trying to hold me down, but years of running free with the seagulls on the coast of the wild sea had given me a wild strength that she could not seem to match._

            Seeing Fleur sitting on the edge of my bed, trying so desperately to calm me, all the fight went out of me, and I buried my face in her chest crying stormily.  "Shh, ma petite.  C'était  un cauchemar… Je suis ici, calme-toi, shh…" (3)

            It took at least half an hour of me crying into her chest by the shuddering light provided by the wild storm outside before I could tell her what had happened.  For the first time in my life, I did not find the storm soothing, but saw it for a cover for things to lurk in the night.  The roar of the ocean was the roar of swiftly approaching green death, and I gasped out "Ferme… les…ridaux… s'il… te… plait…" (4)

            Fleur looked highly mystified at the request.  She knew that I adored storms on the sea, and probably guessed that I had flung the curtains open to their fullest on the large windows that faced the sea to the south to let the storm in.  She looked much more worried when I refused to let go of her hand when she went to close them, and clung to her short little nightgown.  "Qu'est-ce qui est passé?" (5) she asked me in a soothing voice.  "Je ne t'ai jamais vue comme ça!" (6)

            I swallowed once, frantically, before explaining my dream to her.  It was already fading, but the horrible sense of menace was clearly with me.  I told her as simply as I could, ending with "Il a dit quelquechose… et tout est devenu vert… et elle est morte… et il m'a regardé… j'avais horriblement peur…" (7)

            Fleur looked grim as she stroked her graceful hand through my hair.  "Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?" (8) she asked, her voice strangely reserved.  "Est-ce que tu te souviens?" (9)

            I nodded shakily, crawling up into her lap and breathing in deeply the smell that was part roses, part Chinese tea, and all Fleur.  "Oui, je m'en souviens…" (10) I whispered.  "Il a dit 'Ave'-non… 'avada ke'… 'ke'… quelquechose…" (11) I mumbled realizing that I was already beginning to forget.  "Peut être je ne m'en souviens pas…" (12)

            Fleur's hand tightened about a lock of my hair for a moment before she resumed her soothing stroking.  "Oui, c'était un cauchemar," (13) she said with a voice full of assurances I could tell she didn't feel.  "Ma pauvre, c'est parcequ'il fait rage dehors." (14)  She bade me to lie down and tucked my broom back into bed with me from where it had fallen and sang me song after song until my eyes began to droop and my heart to beat slower.

            At the moment I realized Fleur was hiding something from me, I felt more alone than I ever had, even with her soft and husky voice singing "Alouette" (15) to me and my broomstick clutched tightly in my grip.

            I slept fitfully that night, dreams full of fragments of things I didn't understand or remember, but Fleur stayed with me the entire night, never letting go of my hand, even to apply a compress to her quickly blackening eye.  When I woke in the morning the storm still raged and she was still there, slumped over on one side of my bed, her hair a mess that only partially covering the puffy flesh around her left eye.  Her hand, though, still held mine tightly, and her breathing was that of deep sleep.

            I sat up, clutching my broomstick in one hand and Fleur's hand in the other, and looked warily to the drawn velvet curtains.  The storm was beating at them, and I shivered.  I did not want to stay here.  Fleur groaned and sat up, and regarded me with a face that was still undeniably lovely, even with a black eye and sleep-tousled hair.

            I did not let go of her hand as we made our way down the winding staircase from the east wing to the kitchen.  Maman's quarters were in the northern tower, and I was very glad that Fleur had returned home yesterday to sleep in the same wing as me and hear my screaming.  As it was, I had cried myself nearly hoarse, and the two of us looked a positive fright.  Maman looked ready to faint when she saw us.  With a small cry, she rushed over, and I finally let go of Fleur's hand to cling to Maman's neck.  Fleur told her shortly that I'd had a nightmare, a very bad one, and that she had stayed up with me all night.

            I sat at the breakfast table pressed tightly between my mother and sister on one side of the table, and shook and shuddered every time thunder sounded outside.  The peals I had once found so appealing had lost their beauty with the loss of my innocence, and I wanted more than anything to curl up somewhere in the depths of the house where they would be muffled, and never ever look outside again.  At one time, I thought of my glass tower and terrified myself so badly that I began to cry again, silently, my shoulders heaving.

            Maman looked at me with worry and compassion, then at Fleur with a silent plea for help.  I was allowed to cry, my face buried in Maman's apron, until she gently pried me loose and asked if I would like to spend the day at my grandmother's home on the outskirts of Paris today, at least until the storm passed.  I nodded, and Fleur took me upstairs to plait my hair and get me changed, for I refused to go alone.

            Within less than an hour, I was back downstairs, wearing a neat set of shell-pink robes (for my grandmother was very particular), my hair in one thick braid down my back, and still shuddering at every peal of thunder.  Fleur had talked me into leaving my broom behind.  I knew she was right, for Grand-mère Belle (16) was very old-fashioned in many of her beliefs, and did not think that girls, especially little girls, should fly at all.  She had not spoken to my Tante Romarin (17) since she had gone against everything and tried out for the French national team instead of getting married, and had the audacity to make it.  Tante Romarin had promised me that she would teach me to fly just like her someday.  I cherished dreams once of being a Chaser, of zooming up and down the Quidditch pitch, and of winning… it will never happen now, but then it seemed the greatest tragedy in the world to leave my new-found wings behind.

            Maman had already contacted Grand-mère, and I would go alone, straight into her household.  I expected I'd be bored, and told often to mind my manners, but I didn't mind as long as I could get out of the storm.  I only wished that Fleur could come with me.

            My sister picked up a bit of Floo powder from a glimmering crystal vase on the mantle, and threw it into the low fire in the green-veined marble fireplace large enough for me to lie down in.  Immediately, the fire roared into the chimney, a bright green color.  I shuddered, for the green reminded me of the dream; I froze until Fleur gently prodded me forward.  "Belles Fleurs," (18) I said, naming my grandmother's vineyard estate, and stepped into the flames, shutting my eyes tight.

            It was a quick but unsettling journey.  Still, I managed to step out of the fire neatly without tripping on my fine robes, and make a careful curtsy, spreading the pale pink cotton around me before looking up.  My grandmother sat enthroned on her pale gold brocade couch, embroidering daintily.  This couch of hers was an especial treasure, and I had always been warned never to touch it while I was growing up in and about Belles Fleurs.  It was Grand-mère's personal throne, and all the other furniture in the room was lower to add to the effect.

            My grandmother was still a woman of such beauty that she made my sister and mother pale in comparison.  Her hair was loose, and currently fell in a graceful cascade from the couch to just nearly touch the floor.  Her eyes were the intense blue of a winter sky, and the smile on her ruby-red lips was sweet and soft, hiding, for a time, her hideous temper.  Next to her, I felt like an urchin.

            Sitting in one of the side chairs was Tante Rose's (19) middle daughter Alice, nursing her two-month old daughter Pèrle (20), my only niece.  My grandmother looked up from her sewing and I lowered my head respectfully.  Now that I was out of the storm, I had begun regretting this decision.  I missed Fleur and Maman, and though Cousine Alice (21) was sweet and Pèrle was charming and fascinating on most days, I knew that perfectly rigid behavior was expected at Belles Fleurs, and that I would not enjoy myself with them unless Grand-mère chose to withdraw for a time.

            "Bonjour, ma petite Gabrielle," (22) said my grandmother in a voice that sounded like a stream skipping over rocks.  "Violette a dit que tu as besoin du soleil parce que tu es malade." (23)

            I breathed easier.  It was just like Maman to lie to my formidable grandmother to assure I was not questioned about my horrible dream.  "Bonjour madame.  Oui, je regrette de vous dire que j'ai un rhume." (24)  I lowered my head so the lie wouldn't show.  "Il pleut beaucoup chez nous." (25)

            My cousin waved at me with a smile, and my grandmother nodded.  "Vas-tu au verger.  Il fait du soleil, et ton Oncle Patrick est là avec tes cousins.  Ils jouent au Quidditch; tu peux regarder.  Assieds-toi dans le soleil, tu est vraiment pâle." (26)

            I lowered my head to hide the sparkle in my eyes.  Quidditch!  Grand-mère approved of the sport for boys, and though I could not play, being female as well as "ill", I could watch.  It would not be a miserably boring day of trying to embroider and reading long magic history books which were undoubtedly good for me, but horribly boring.  I had to work to keep the spring from my step as I headed for the orchard.

            The day passed pleasantly.  I didn't see Alice, as well as Alice's other brothers and sisters very often.  Tante Rose lived in Bretagne (27), and most of her children had settled around her.  It was a rare treat, one that I made the most of, to spend a day with my cousins in the orchard, watching Quidditch, eating half-ripened grapes, and being waited on hand and foot.  I was sad when I saw the sun begin to set.  I knew the storm at home would be over, and I would return there as soon as I had had dinner.  I loved my home, but at that time it appeared menacing and full of lurking shadows in my mind.  I did not wish to go back to the bed where I had dreamed the night before.

            I sighed as Oncle Patrick carried me into the house effortlessly.  He was a large man, and my Tante Rose had surprised everyone by marrying him, for he was not at all handsome.  He was, however, steady as a rock and had the mildest nature of anyone I had ever known.  I loved his tranquility, and I felt safe in his arms; I felt so safe only with Fleur and Maman.

            As he carried me through the sitting room, my head resting on his shoulder, I heard the fire roar up and looked in shock at the suddenly green flames.  "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" (28) my grandmother asked, obviously upset and more than a little angry, for her perfect face was growing hawklike.

            In the next moment, Fleur, her robes stained and her eyes wild, flew into the room.  She saw me, sobbed out something about being glad I was alive, and threw herself at Oncle Patrick and me.  Even my large uncle barely kept his balance at her onslaught as she proceeded to hug the breath out of me.

            Finally, Alice had managed to pry her off us and ask her what had happened.  Fleur began laughing, shaky, wild, grieving laughter.  Alice slapped her to bring her out of her hysterics as the baby began to wail.  "Oh Gabrielle… quel horreur…" (29) Fleur whispered, looking crazed but sounding, for the first time, sane.  "Maman… Maman… elle est morte." (30)

            With eyes wide with disbelief, the room watched my beloved sister, and I pinched myself again, hoping it was some sort of crazy dream once more.  It wasn't.

            I was an orphan.

Footnotes:

(1)Chapter Two: Dreams of a Golden Head

(2)"_HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!  HELP ME!!!"_

(3)"Shh, my little one... It was a nightmare... I'm here, calm down, shh..."

(4)"Close... the... curtains... please..."

(5)"What happened?"

(6)"I've never seen you like this!"

(7)He said something... and everything turned green... and she died... and he looked at me... I was horribly frightened..."

(8)"What did he say?"

(9)"Do you remember?"

(10)"Yes, I remember it..."

(11)"He said 'Ave'-no... 'avada ke'... 'ke'... something..."

(12)"Maybe I don't remember..."

(13)"Yes, it was a nightmare."

(14)"Poor dear, it's because it's storming outside."

(15)Skylark

(16)Grandmother Belle (Beauty)

(17)Aunt Rosemary

(18)Beautiful Flowers (you notice how all the female children are named after flowers? *grins*  Had to do it, sorry...)

(19)Aunt Rose (Rose means Rose... easy, huh?)

(20)Pearl

(21)Cousin Alice

(22)"Hello, my little Gabrielle."

(23)"Violette (Violet) said that you need sun because you are ill."

(24)"Good day, madam.  Yes, I regret to tell you I have a cold."

(25)"It rains a lot at our house."

(26)"Go to the orchard.  It's sunny, and your Uncle Patrick is there with your cousins.  They're playing Quidditch; you can watch.  Sit in the sunshine, you really are pale."

(27)Bretagne is a province in the west (more or less) of France.  This is quite quite far from Gabrielle's home in the southeast...

(28)"What is this?"

(29)"Oh Gabrielle... how horrible..."

(30)"Mom... Mom... she's dead."


	4. Chapitre Trois: Nouvelles Cotes

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Trois: Nouvelles Côtes (1)

Hi all!  Back again!  I'm being harassed to hurry *laughs self-consciously*  I should really write "Who We Are"… I know.  I will.  Soon.  _Really soon.  Really.  Eehehehe… ahem.  Anyway!  As this goes on, there will be less and less French spoken… instead, we will revert to English (Gabrielle learns fast) which means of course… that we're going to England!  Look at the title of the chapter *lol*  You're very shortly going to meet Harry and company as I see them… be warned there may be some ideas we don't agree on… after all, you may have noticed I see things as darker than Rowling *lol*  Enjoy yourselves anyway!  And thank you for the condolences on Violette's death *sniffles*  I liked her too!  Her birthday is even the same as mine… how do I know her birthday?  I did the family tree!  Anyone want to see it?  Well, I've got it down on notebook paper (so many __cousins it is three sheets long!) but I am working on making it an illustrated thing, online, all neat and pretty… tell me if you're interested by __reviewing and I'll work harder to get it done!  OK, I'm finished rambling now…_

This chapter is dedicated to the Two o'Clock Fairies.  Thanks guys, you came through again…

Disclaimer: I worship the ground the magnificent J.K. Rowling walks on… I do not even deserve to borrow her characters… but I'm going to anyway!  I still don't own most of them though… though I _do own all of Gabrielle's many many assorted relatives (we're having ourselves a funeral)._

            The next two weeks passed in a haze.  I felt as though I were drifting through some nightmarish world where everything was blurry.  Fleur grieved openly and loudly, sobbing in the corner, allowing her hair to lose its luster and her face to be permanently pink and puffy.  She wore only black robes, and put the beautiful pale blue the color of her eyes away.  I never saw it again.  I didn't cry.  My eyes grew large and shimmering and I grew thinner than I was, for if I was not reminded, I did not eat.  Tante Rose, who had been at Belles Fleurs when Fleur had rushed in, had taken over caring for us, forbidding us to return home.  She sent Giselle, her second-eldest daughter, and Eugène, her husband, to pick up clothes and other necessities for us.  When Eugène returned with my broomstick, I took it solemnly, but didn't smile.  I thought right then that I would never smile again.

            At first, no one noticed that I did not eat.  Fleur, more vocal in her grief, nonetheless ate and worked furiously all day, doing her best trying to heal.  I was silent, and wandered the rooms of my grandmother's estate like a wraith with tangled silvery hair, for there was no one to comb and plait it.  Four days after Fleur came, I lost consciousness and tumbled down the stairs.  I awoke with no pain, for my cousin Brittany was one of France's most renowned magical doctors.  She asked me with concern whether I had been eating and I shook my head silently as I realized that I had not been.  From that moment on, Tante Rose and Brittany took turns sitting with me at mealtimes and coaxing me to eat.  Sometimes it happened that each thought the other was doing it, and I went without food.  I hardly noticed.

            A week later, Fleur began to teach me English.  I was pathetically glad to have something to do, for my mind conjured up all sorts of horrifying pictures when left to its own devices.  I had overheard Tante Rose tell Alice that the Dark Mark had been seen flying over my house.  I had never seen it, but in my dreamlike state it presented itself in everything.  When I worked, I was too tired to dream at night, cuddled into the curve of Fleur's body.  Belles Fleurs was a large estate, with plenty of room for each member of the family to have their own rooms, even if all of my aunts uncles, cousins, and nieces and nephews were here.  Nonetheless, Fleur and I had chosen to share a room, and I took comfort in her warmth at night.

            Relatives trickled in from all over the continent.  I didn't even smile when Tante Colombine arrived from Madrid with her gaggle of Spanish-speaking children and a new grandchild that I had not yet met.  Estella looked every bit the proud mother, and little Vladi, at a year old, was already beginning to talk.  He christened me "Gaga" on the spot, and proceeded to follow me around, though I paid him no mind.  Fleur found another source of comfort in Tante Colombine's daughter Flor.  They had been born on the same day and even shared their name, though in different languages.  Flor did her best to keep Fleur cheered up, and soon my sister was smiling rare watery smiles and taking care of her appearance again.  I kept to her side like glue when she was not in the bathroom, and she continued to teach me English.  I learned it because there was nothing else to do; I no longer thought of writing Harry Potter a letter.  I was beyond caring about Harry Potter, or anyone else.

            The days slipped by like monotonous gray beads, and I lost track of time, for Belles Fleurs was so large I rarely saw a window.  As my relatives drifted in, more and more of them noticed that I was not behaving like myself.  Tante Romarin came in last, still wearing her red and blue Quidditch robes.  Grand-mère frowned at her, but did not challenge her presence.  Maman's death seemed to have reconciled them.  One night, feeling restless, I walked down the winding staircase into the living room with thoughts of finding a house-elf and asking for another blanket, for I was used to the warmer climate of the south.  I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, seeing Tante Romarin crying in Grand-mère's arms.  I stood quietly for a few moments, watching my short-haired aunt sitting on the floor, her head buried in Grand-mère's lap, and felt a pang of loneliness.  Even Tante Romarin, who had willingly given up her mother, could come home and feel her love.  I would never see Maman again.  I slunk back upstairs, the blanket forgotten.

            The funeral happened a week after that.  Most of my family had gathered, except my English cousins whose parents were simply too busy at the Ministry and my cousin Araceli, who was expecting a baby and could not travel.  I stood by my mother's grave dry-eyed, hating everyone around me for not allowing the casket to be open so that I could kiss her good-bye.  Fleur handed me half of her bouquet of white violets, and I silently placed them on top of the casket.  I felt like a traitor as I took up the shovel and tossed the first small clump of dirt on it.  One of the violets was crushed by a small rock, and that was how I felt-crushed and abandoned.  It began to rain very softly in the quiet Parisian graveyard as every member of our family took their turn helping to bury my mother.  Most of them were crying.  The rain left trails down my cheeks, but I didn't cry.  I wanted to kill something.

            After the funeral, Fleur took my hand and we slipped away from the loud family who, although saddened, seemed to take this as a reason to have a reunion.  I did not wish to see them.  Fleur and I wore plain black Muggle dresses, and no one paid much attention to us as we wandered aimlessly through the streets of Paris.  The rain continued lightly, but it was not uncomfortable in the warm day.  I saw a rainbow sweeping across the sky and wondered if I would recognize beauty again.  Fleur squeezed my hand, as if knowing my thoughts.  She saw a small boulangerie (2) and steered me in.  She bought two hot rolls with butter and made me eat much as Cousine Brittany and Tante Rose had been.  I ate it silently, noticing absently that I was very hungry, for I had had nothing to eat since the day before.  "Je dois parler à toi de quelquechose très important," (3) she said seriously.

            "J'écoute," (4) I said shortly.

            "Je voudrais vendre la maison," (5) she finally said, watching my eyes for reactions.  They remained blank.

            "Où habiterons-nous?" (6) I asked.

            "Tante Rose a dit qu'elle te prendra," (7) Fleur answered.

            "Et toi?" (8)

            "J'irai en Angleterre," (9) she answered.  "J'ai eu une lettre d'un ami là.  Il a trouvé du travail pour moi.  Je vais partir après ton anniversaire." (10)  I had forgotten all about my upcoming birthday until she reminded me.  I had never forgotten before.

            I watched her silently, pondering.  I didn't want her to leave, though she had been talking about getting a job in England for several years.  It had not seemed real then, and even if it had, I had had Maman.  I would have been able to let her go if Maman was here, but without her… "J'irai avec toi," (11) I said shortly.  "Je vais apprendre l'anglais, et tu me prendras avec toi.  Je ne veux pas rester ici sans toi." (12)

            Fleur sighed and said nothing.  Instead, she took my hand and pulled me back out onto the wet streets.  We stopped outside Sacre-Coeur (13), and she led me in.  In the silent, incense-scented place, I felt very small.  Fleur gave me a candle to light for Maman, and I did, feeling all the while that something magical and bittersweet was going on.  Walking out, I turned back to look at my candle, but it had faded into the hundreds of others and I sighed bitterly, leaving without another glance.

            We returned home by taking a taxi to the nearest wizarding store and using the Floo powder.  I wished I could Apparate.

The next day, I got twice as much of an assignment in English and I went at it with a new fervor.  She had not said so, but I knew Fleur was taking me to England at the beginning of the month.

            It was going on the third week when I was sitting in the library, torturously conjugating English verbs, and seriously considering throwing the offending assignment in the fire, when a squealing mass of honey-blonde hair and swirling black robes flew into the doors and pounced on me.  I let out a squeak as the two of us flew to the floor, and when we were finally detangled I recognized my cousin Elizabeth du Lac, though she had grown up quite a bit from the last photos Tante Eleanor had sent from England.  Elizabeth was three years older than me, and since I had last seen her she had cut off her long hair to sweep just above her shoulders.  It amazed me how mature she looked.

            "Cousine Fleur m'a dit que tu es toujours ici, tourmentant un livre." (14)  Her French was very good, albeit decidedly accented.  

            I couldn't help it.  One corner of my mouth twitched up.  I took a deep breath and put a sentence together in my head.  "I 'ave been study English," I said carefully.

            Elizabeth laughed.  "Have been _studying, Gabrielle.  You have to conjugate the verb."_

            I glowered at her and tossed my book on the floor.  "Zese verbs!" I exclaimed, not aware of the fact that I was showing energy for the first time in a week.  "I can nevair get zem right!"

            Elizabeth grinned wider.  "Guess what?  You just did."  I couldn't help myself this time either, and I smiled.  Elizabeth jumped up and hugged me.  "Well, there we go.  I've just won the bet with Giselle.  I told her I could make you smile within five minutes!  Someone owes me ten Galleons!"

            I looked at her in confusion.  "Quoi?" (15) I asked in confusion.

            Elizabeth sighed.  "Giselle will give me ten Galleons… yes?"

I understood that, and I nodded.  "Where?"

Elizabeth shook her head.  "You mean WHY."

I sighed, all too aware that my English was not so good.  "Why?"

"Because I told her I could make you smile."  I looked at her in confusion.  She sighed and reverted to French.  "J'ai fait un pari avec Giselle que je puisse te rendre hereuse.  Alors, j'ai gangné parce que tu as souri!" (16)

I sighed, but couldn't quite return to my former state of melancholy.  "Tu ne m'aime pas," (17) I accused.  "Tu veux seulement voler l'argent de Cousine Giselle." (18)

She laughed and then began to cry, hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe and kissing me twice on each cheek.  For the first time, I felt something in the place where I thought my heart had left a hole.

I never quite reverted to my silent self after that.  I caught myself once asking a house-elf for a snack.  The little creature looked positively delighted and scurried off to return with a huge bowl full of fruit.  Not wanting to waste perfectly good food and offend the house-elf, I thanked him; I ate it all.  The days seemed to speed up all of a sudden, days full of studying with a willing mind and then working myself past exhaustion in the orchard to keep my mind off of things.  Grand-mère had told me, seemingly off-handedly, that perhaps I should go up to the roof and retrieve Vladi, who had somehow ended up up there and was howling like a little wolf cub.  I knew this suggestion for permission to use my broomstick, and went up for the baby gratefully, feeling another tingle in the place my heart was slowly healing.  I kissed Vladi before giving him to Cousine Estella, who was beside herself with worry.

Before I knew it, it was the last day of July, and I woke in bed alone, realizing Fleur was already awake.  There was a faint feeling of excitement at the back of my mind, but I couldn't remember what it was until I wandered downstairs in my nightshirt and was greeted by my entire family, a heap of presents, and a cake the size of a small whale-and shaped like a Quidditch pitch, with little figures on broomsticks enchanted into flying over it.  One of them went into a spectacular dive, and I could just make out my name embroidered on the back of her robes.  I smiled at Tante Romarin, who winked at me.  Grand-mère was looking disapproving, but she said nothing, and allowed me to wear the official French Quidditch robes (once again provided by my thoughtful youngest aunt) that evening when the whole family gathered for dinner.

The very next day, I woke to find trunk upon trunk stacked in the room my sister and I shared, and the house-elves running around quite madly.  I realized all of my things had been brought from home, and Fleur ran in with a freshly-pressed black robe and told me to get dressed quickly, for we had a long journey ahead of us.  Looking at the black fabric in my hands I sighed before pulling off my nightgown to have it whisked away by a house-elf, and pulling on the robe.  My hair was a mess, but as soon as I left my room, Flor took me in hand and began braiding my hair into two neat pigtails.  Ten minutes later, I was at breakfast, and it was still dark outside.

Only half the family was there, and half of those who were were yawning and tired.  Only Elizabeth and Victoria looked energetic, and I was struck again by how boundless their energy was.  They were leaving in a week; Oncle Alain and Tante Eleanor had been fighting Fleur bitterly, telling her to come and stay with them.  She had disagreed, saying that she could not afford to waste time ferrying me from their home in the little village nearly on the border of Scotland to work and back again.  She said it was all very well when one could Apparate, but having a little sister to take care of severely limited her ability to move.

She had applied for official guardianship the week before.  She was eighteen, and although Tante Marguerite put up a fight, saying that a young girl could not raise such a troublesome child, Grand-mère approved of Fleur and Cousine Brittany said that she doubted I would have healed so fast were it not for Fleur's continued active presence in my life.  Thus, I was a ward of my sister, and she was free to do as she pleased.  She had told me that she had found a very nice little place for us to stay.  I knew that the sale of the mansion on the beach would bring a lot of money; I also knew that Maman had been rich.  We would be very well off, even if we were staying in a small place.  Fleur promised me that I would go to school with other children.  The thought appealed to me, for Maman had hired tutors before.  I had never been at school, and though Elizabeth had told me with a smirk I wouldn't like it nearly so much as I thought I would, I was looking forward to it.

As soon as breakfast was over, we all bunched into the kitchen, where the fireplace was the widest.  My uncles, those that were awake, had disappeared nearly an hour ago to begin ferrying our trunks by Apparating them to our new home.  They should have started a fire by this time, and all that remained was to walk into the fire and out of Belles Fleurs for the last time in my life, though I did not realize it.

Fleur threw in the powder, hugged all of the relatives, cried over saying good-bye to Flor, who promised to visit, and walked into the fire, saying something unintelligible.  I felt myself squeezed in one tight grip after another, felt kisses rain down on my face, and for the first time I cried.  Crying made me feel better, and I was sorry I hadn't done it sooner.  Finally, having me calmed down, Tante Rose pushed one of my favorite honey pastries into my hands and nudged me towards the fireplace.  I looked around the assembled faces, most of them beautiful and blue-eyed, and felt somehow alone and apart from my large, loving family for the first time.  "Chez nous," (19) I said softly, and the image in my mind was no longer of the sparkling glass-walled mansion by the sea, but of Fleur.  Home was wherever she was.  Stepping into the pleasantly warm fire, I gave myself over to the spinning, closing my eyes and managing not to stain my robes with the honey pastry I had yet to eat.

I tumbled out of a small fireplace in a comfortable looking cottage with plain wooden floors, a bay window in the living room, and no furniture whatsoever.  Fleur caught me as I fell from the fireplace, and the pastry met its tragic end in her hair.  She only laughed and tore off half of it to stuff in her mouth.  I hoped we could get hot baths here, because if we couldn't, she would be cross about the mess in her hair in no time.

I looked around for the first time, noticing the gray sky outside.  It would be past dawn in England, so I assumed it was cloudy.  Looking out the window, I saw neat little streets, and people going about their early morning business.  I smiled as a woman yelled at a bread-seller, haggling.  It was nothing like the home I had known before, but I felt safe with Fleur.  "Où sommes-nous?" (20) I asked, wondering how the woman was getting away with waving her wand around and threatening to hex the bread seller in plain view.  Were wizarding laws different in England?  Certainly not _that different!_

"From now on, we speak English," Fleur said softly, her tongue wrapping around the harsh words to give them a softness that made them sound nearly French.

"I will tried," I said.

"Try, Gabrielle."

I made a face.  "I will _try, Fleur.  Where aire we?"_

Fleur grinned at the woman, who had given the bread-seller horns.  No one seemed to be bothered by this, as though it were a daily exchange.  "Ah, Meesees Bones seems to be winning zees morning.  Come, I shall show you where we are."

I followed Fleur willingly outside, looking around curiously.  Mrs. Bones seemed to have sprouted a pair of bat wings since I had last checked.  She and the bread seller looked to be enjoying themselves mightily.

"Look," Fleur said, pointing me in the opposite direction from the dueling wizards.  I looked up in the opposite direction and gaped.  The sun had just come out from behind the clouds, and one shaft of light hit an enormous stone castle that stood on a cliff and looked as though towers and wings had been added whenever fancy struck.  There were hundreds of windows, and several flags bearing a colorful crest were fluttering in the wind.  "'Ogwarts."

Footnotes:

(1)Chapter Three: New Shores

(2)bread shop (there are lots of these all over Paris)

(3)"I must speak to you about something very important."

(4)"I'm listening."

(5)"I want to sell the house."

(6)"Where will we live?"

(7)"Aunt Rose said that she'll take you."

(8)"And you?"

(9)"I will go to England."

(10)"I've had a letter from a friend there.  He has found work for me.  I will leave after your birthday."

(11)"I am going with you."

(12)"I'll learn English, and you will take me with you.  I don't want to stay here without you."

(13)A really pretty (and really famous) cathedral in Paris.  The name means "Sacred Heart".

(14)"Cousin Fleur told me that you're always here, tormenting a book."

(15)"What?"

(16)"I made a bet with Giselle that I could make you happy.  Well, I've won, because you smiled!"

(17)"You don't love me."

(18)"You only want to steal Cousin Giselle's money."

(19)"Our home."

(20)"Where are we?"


	5. Chapitre Quatre: Je Me Souviens de Toi.....

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Quatre: Je Me Souviens de Toi…(1)

I'm BACK minna-san!  It's only been, what… a week?  It's because I've been (a) working on "Who We Are" (rejoice, die-hard fans, you'll have another chapter tomorrow), (b) working on the family tree and other "extras" to this story, and (c) co-authoring another Harry Potter, very Fleur focused ficcy that promises to be a real masterpiece… hey, anyone who can match Draco up with Cho as a side story *sniggers* has to be brilliant.  Wait and see… wait and see… Actually, don't wait.  Go take a look at it, it's called "Sunlight and Shadow", and promises to be very very funny, if not canon to the world in Lionne.  Besides, you _want to see a story about the French girls with a happy ending and humor in spades, right?  This won't be one… but that will!  Oh!  Quickie comment!  Some of the accents don't come out properly even with encoding… hell knows __why Word is being cruel to me, but there you have it.  Words like "shores" and "where" appear to be spelled wrong in French-they're not!  It's ff.n being stupid… I'll attempt to fix it.  About this chapter… do I really have any other comments?  For once in my life, I think I don't!  So, enjoy yourselves!_

This chapter is dedicated to Ithica, who shares my passion for French (and is beginning to share my passion for Fleur and Gabrielle).  That, and she thinks I'm pretty *laughs*  That alone merits a dedication…

Disclaimer: I hate coming up with original disclaimers! *whines* [insert creative disclaimer here] Not mine.

            The next month passed quickly and pleasantly.  There was a month exactly before school started in Hogwarts, and Fleur was constantly running to meetings of some sort in the castle, leaving me alone in the little cottage in Hogsmeade.  There were no house-elves, but between my days of boredom and moving things around, as well as Fleur's quick shooting of heavier items across the floor with her wand, the place began to look like home.

The real crisis came when it was time to cook, for I knew nothing much more than telling one end of a fork from the other.  Fleur, while she could cook passably, was never home, and more often than not I ended up at the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta fussed over me like an adorable doll, or next door at the rambling Bones house.  Mrs. Bones, the woman I had seen haggling with the bread-seller, had obviously become friends with Fleur when my sister had come here to look the place over, and willingly let me into her home and her heart.  Her daughter Susan was due to begin her fifth year at Hogwarts, and both of them seemed genuinely glad to see me on their doorstep or sitting in my window seat come dinner time.  Mr. Bones was with the Department of International Magical Cooperation; he came home late and left early.  I had a faint impression of a man worn thin by hard work, with tufts of pale hair and tired eyes.  I saw him two or three times that summer, and although he was friendly enough, he seemed too tired to really look at me.

Susan and Mrs. Bones both had thick, wavy, nut-brown hair, laughing eyes, and a smattering of freckles across their noses.  On the days Fleur was gone, Susan often appeared on my back porch with a cake or cookies that her own family had just "not been able to finish off".  I had a distinct feeling my sister and her mother had asked her to take care of me, but she didn't seem to mind, and I found her company pleasant.  She taught me more English, and peppered the air with questions about my sister.  I found out from her that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was jinxed, and she laughed as she asked me if my sister was planning on keeping the job for more than one year.

A week before school began, Fleur managed to get a day off from meetings and took me to Diagon Alley.  I heard the rushing sounds of Muggle London outside the small, dark pub called the Leaky Cauldron.  There was the sound of a car crashing and I shuddered.  I had never ridden in one-we had always used Floo powder at home, now Fleur Apparated everywhere except Hogwarts.  The Floo powder made me free to travel anywhere in the wizarding world where I wished to go, but locked me out of the Muggle world entirely.  I wondered sometimes if it was anything like that brief glimpse of Paris I had gotten during Maman's funeral.  From here, it sounded noisy and unpleasant.  I heard someone shout from outside and winced, squeezing Fleur's hand tightly.

She bought me breakfast, and laughed the moment I took my first bite at the blissful expression on my face.  "We should eat 'ere more often," I said dreamily.  "I cook like someone 'oo 'as nevair seen a pot."  Proud of my long, correct sentence, I busied myself with the eggs on my plate.  Food was heavier in England, and I found I didn't need to eat nearly as much as I had in France.

"You 'aven't," Fleur said matter-of-factly.  I reached across the table and slapped her slightly on the arm.  "You need not worry.  I sink I 'ave found us an 'ouse-elf."

"You 'ave?" I said, my eyes lighting up.  "No more exploding ze stove?"

Her eyebrows shot up.  "You made ze stove explode?"

I blushed.  "Eet was an accident… Meesees Bones fixed eet…"

She laughed.  "Oh, Gabrielle, tu es vraiment amusante!" (2)  I made a face at her and returned to my food.

"I am glad you 'ave found an 'ouse-elf.  You can not cook neizer."

"Eizer," she corrected.

Friendly banter and good food filled the next hour.  The only unpleasant moment came when a boy with pale blonde hair nearly the same color as mine walked in, looked arrogantly around, and stopped his eyes on Fleur and me.  His eyes met mine and for a moment, time seemed to drag, and I felt as though he were searching through my thoughts.  His eyes widened imperceptibly and he watched us with glittering interest.  I shuddered; there was something about those eyes that I did not like.  I lowered my own and watched my eggs as though they were the most important thing in the world.  When I looked up, he was gone, and I let out a breath of air I didn't know I had been holding.  I tried not to think of him again, because he made me feel a horrible freezing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Breakfasts finished, Fleur took my hand and led me through the back entrance of the pub into a small alleyway.  "'E said ze sird brick on ze left," she murmured, counting the bricks with her wand.  As soon as she tapped the third one, I had to jump back a bit from the wall as it split open until I was suddenly looking into a crowded, noisy street full of assorted people in bright colors.  I caught a passing glimpse of the same blonde boy and gripped Fleur's hand.  "I won't let you get lost," she reassured, not guessing the reason for my sudden clinginess.

We stepped through the magical doorway and the wall reassembled itself behind us.  "Come on," she said, pulling me into the crowd behind her.  I held tight to her hand and looked around the people, wondering if I would ever feel safe in a crowd again.  It would be so easy for someone to just… take my hand… and…

Next time I looked up, I realized that I had somehow lost hold of Fleur's hand, and was standing quite alone in the middle of a crowd that looked far less friendly than that of Diagon Alley.  The stores were dark and menacing, and the people who swirled around me like a rock in the middle of a stream looked somehow sinister.  I had no idea where I had ended up, had no idea when I had managed to lose hold of Fleur's hand, and was in general feeling completely miserable.

I fought my way through the ominous crowd and dove into the doorway of the first store that looked cleaner than the others.  I looked around, eyes wide, at the stacks and stacks of books, most old, many of the titles worn to being unintelligible, strange stains on some of the books on the higher shelves.  There was no salesman in sight, and I stood still, feeling the indisputable feeling of power all around me, frightened to move.

The silence was strangely tangible, but after a few moments it still hadn't changed, and I allowed myself to relax just a little.  I walked up to the wall of books, looking for any titles at all.  Reaching up to the third shelf, I ran my fingers softly over a binding.  Only part of the title remained: "The Transposition of the Spi" with the rest of it being unintelligible.  I didn't know what the big word was, but I pulled the book off the shelf anyway, wondering if the rest of the title was on the inside.  It had piqued my curiosity.  The book stuck, I pulled and it came off of the shelf with a cloud of dust.

I sneezed as something else fell from the shelf, hitting the floor with a soft thunk that reverberated in the eerily quiet room.  Forgetting the heavy book, I set it down and looked around for whatever had made the noise.  It didn't take long to find it-a light-colored wand lying across the room.  Curious, I walked over to it, wondering why a wand, a wand that looked to be in perfectly passable condition, would be hidden behind a book in this strange, dark store.  Leaning over, I picked it up.

Later I would realize I had lost consciousness the second my hand touched it.  What happened next was more likely to be a dream, an illusion, a foretelling of the future, even a very distant memory than it was to be real.

I was standing in another shop, this one just a little brighter and a tiny bit cleaner, and all the shelves that reached to the ceiling were stacked with long, thin boxes.  An old, owl-like man was regarding me curiously over the counter.  "So… try this one, then.  Ten inches, willow and unicorn hair, nice and swishy.  One of the feistiest female unicorns I've ever met.  It's a bit temperamental, but…" He handed me the wand and immediately I felt a unity with it, as though a piece of me that had been missing was found.  "Go on, give it a wave for me, then."

I did so, and for a second felt a blinding heat, as though my blood were boiling.  The heat congregated in the area of my hand, and suddenly, sparks began to fly, until the entire shop was shimmering.  I looked in amazement at the man.  "Well," he said, his eyebrows raised high.  "I suppose that's it, then."

I nodded silently, clasping the wand to my chest with one hand, not letting go even as I paid.  I walked out of the store, never releasing the wand, looking back only once, to see the man with the owl eyes watching me consideringly.  "Yes, I suppose we can expect great things from you, my girl… I'll be watching…"

My heart gave a nervous flutter as I caught my green eyes in the reflecting glass window… and realized that apart from the eyes I looked nothing like myself… and I woke up.

I woke up staring, once again, into a pair of frightened eyes, these rimmed by glasses, and I was no longer in the shop.  I looked around in confusion, and saw that I was lying in the middle of the street in that same dark, shady part of Diagon Alley, and a boy with messy black hair and glasses was watching me with concern.  I recognized him, and in my shady mind, a name readily presented itself. "Ja…" the name disappeared, my vision cleared, I saw his eyes, eyes as green as my own, and I knew who was really leaning over me.  "_'Arry!"_

He nodded.  "Can you see me clearly?  How many fingers?"  He held up a hand, my head swam again, and I screwed my eyes up tight to bring everything back into focus.

"Sree," I said, my voice weak.  I tried to stand and found I couldn't.  To my great embarrassment, I found myself scooped up in Harry's arms and carried in the opposite direction from whence I remembered coming.  However, in a few moments, everything started becoming more familiar.

"What in the world are you doing in Knockturn Alley?  In England, for that matter?"

I looked up at him, trying to fid the English words.  "I lose Fleur," I said softly, my head still reeling.

"You lost her?"

I nodded, wondering even then if I would ever properly speak the horrible language.  "Yes," I said.  "I will walk, non?"

He let me go, and I carefully took a few steps.  I found that my legs were wobbly, but I could stand.  "I sink she is gone to buy books?"

Harry nodded and took my hand firmly.  "Flourish & Blotts, then.  Hold on, I don't want you to get lost."  I held on to his hand tightly, wondering how I had managed to lose Fleur when I had been gripping her hand… in my hand… the entire time…

I looked down, and discovered I still held the wand from the mysterious shop so tightly, my knuckled were white.  I wondered if it would react to me like it had in that strange vision.  My hand felt hot as I gave it a tiny wave.  A tiny bright green butterfly flew out of the end and I looked on with wide eyes as it fluttered away.  Before Harry could see, I stuffed my hand in my pocket, never letting go of the wand.  Somehow, I knew he would want to look at it, and I didn't want to let it go.  It made me feel… safe.  It made me feel safe.

I didn't even notice the silvery blonde head of the boy who had so frightened me earlier ducking into a store, a wide, malicious grin on his face.

We reached the book store, and Fleur ran out, her eyes frantic, to pick me up in the tightest hug I had ever felt.  "Gabrielle! Je suis presque morte!  Où?  Qui?  Pourquoi… _'Arry!" (3)  She then launched into a quick flood of English words at Harry that I didn't even try to understand.  Finally, when she'd calmed down, I listened to him explain slowly that he had found me lying in the street, white as death, with people walking around me carefully._

"But… what about ze… magasin? (4)"

"Store," Fleur translated.  Then, she looked horrified.  "You went into a store in Knockturn Alley?"

I cringed.  "I did not know where I am."

"Was," Harry corrected absently.  "It's happened to me before.  Don't be too hard on her."

Fleur looked me over carefully, as though convinced I had cuts or scratches somewhere, or maybe had been bitten by the people in this apparently dangerous Knockturn Alley.  "Rien n'est passé?  Tu es certaine?" (5)

I nodded, holding tightly to the wand in my robes pocket and trying not to look guilty.  That was the first secret I had ever kept from her, but I didn't want anyone to see.  "Rien," (6) I said, a little shakily.  Seeing that Harry didn't understand, I made an effort at English.  "You say you 'ave found me on ze street?  But I remember zat I 'ave entered store…"

Harry, after a hopeless glance, obviously decided that he was not going to correct my English and answered my question.  "No… you were definitely in the road.  It was very odd; people were walking around you as though you were more dangerous than Knockturn Alley itself.  For a moment I thought you weren't breathing at all.  You really scared me.  What happened?"

I looked straight into his eyes, green locking on green, and answered in the easiest way I knew how.  "I is fell."

"The 'is' is not necessary," Fleur said gently.  She was obviously still recovering from her worry, and she held me gently around the shoulders, a bag full of heavy-looking books over her other shoulder.  "I can not sank you enough, 'Arry.  You 'ave saved my little one again."

Harry tried to play off her thanks, but his ears turned slightly pink.  Once he was over stuttering out something about thanking him not being necessary, he looked at us curiously.  "What are you two doing in England, in any case?  I thought you went home to France, Fleur?"

"We moved," came the short reply.  "I will see you in class, 'Arry.  I teach at 'Ogwarts zis year."  She turned back to the bookshop, obviously still saddened by memories of Maman.

I looked back at Harry, who couldn't seem to figure out what he had done wrong.  "Bye," I said miserably.

"Gabrielle?"

"Hm?"

"What did you call me when you first woke up?"

I looked at him carefully.  It was so odd, feeling uncomfortable around Harry Potter.  My hand tight around the wand in my pocket tingled.  "My 'ead is 'urting," I said softly.  "I do not remember."

"Oh.  All right, then, see you around."

"Yes."  He left, and I felt horrid.  As I entered the book shop where my black-clad sister was conversing with a red-faced sales clerk, I sighed softly to myself.

That was my first real lie, because I remembered very well.  I had nearly called him "James".

Footnotes:

(1)Chapter Four: I Remember You...

(2)"Oh, Gabrielle, you are truly funny!"

(3)"Gabrielle!  I nearly died!  Where?  Who?  Why..."

(4)Store

(5)"Nothing happened?  You're sure?"

(6)"Nothing."


	6. Chapitre Cinq: Bris

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Cinq: Bris

I'm back!  It took me a while, this chapter, what with Lucius Malfoy, Neville's grandmother, and a host of original characters, as well as the persistent reappearances of Lily's ghost and the anger at myself for not being able to write house-elves... be glad it only took this long.  For those of you who have been living in a cave (or just have a really bad sense of the understated) yes, I did reincarnate Lily.  Am I reincarnating James?  The answer is no.  Why just Lily?  You'll see.  Is there something brewing between Harry and Gabrielle?  Yes, there always is in my stories, but the romance aspect is being kept to a minimum here, mainly because poor Gabby, as she begins to remember, will be torn between loving Harry as a boy and, ironic as it is, a son.  The house-elf has been postponed until next time, because I found a brilliant place to leave off (and I hate writing the critters).  In other news… there isn't any French in this chapter!  Seriously!  (Hey, Sirius' middle name is Orion, not Lee!)  Only the title, which means "Fragments".  Thank you everyone for your kind support!  This chapter seems to drag to me, but I swear it'll make more sense after this!  On another note, this is not a Malfoy-friendly story.  Now, I personally love Draco to death, but for the sake of this story… if you want to see him be good (or be good being bad, even), read the Lolita Triology.  Actually, read it anyway.  So much happier!  Besides that, don't you want to figure out what in the world Draco was doing by returning Lily's wand?  Of course you do!  On to the story!

Dedicated to Francie, the awesomest French beta editor ever!  There isn't much for you to do here, but enjoy it anyway…

Disclaimer: I cannot be help responsible for the below, as apparently my cat has learned how to type.

I dreamt in green-tinged fragments that night.  My dreams would soon stop coming in French altogether, and I was very aware that I was learning more English from the conversations I carried on easily in my sleep than the books which I nonetheless diligently studied.  In the dreams that began that night, my English was perfect and I was completely comfortable in being this someone else that I saw glimpses of whenever my dream self approached reflecting objects.  The dreams still had a sense of removed memory, as though I had seen or done these things countless times before, laughed with the same people, made the same decisions.

            The night after we returned from Diagon Alley, the dreaming started in earnest, and I began to remember when I woke up.  That particular night, the dreams doubled back on themselves in time, until I was measuring when I was by the relative height of the suits of armor to me, for the dreaming followed no particular pattern.  In that night's dreams, it was almost always storming, and though at times I was a stunningly beautiful girl with shimmering dark red waves of hair near Fleur's age, and at others I was small, freckled, and had two thick braids the color of carrots, the bright green eyes remained the same, and I rested in the knowledge that no matter the appearance, I was the same person, caught in a strange whirlpool of time.

            From that night on, I led a charmed existence.  Sometimes when I dreamed I would forget who I was and slip easily into the other persona.  At other times, waking, I would catch sight of my blonde braids in the mirror and blink, because I was not expecting them.  And still there were times when my mind became tired and I forgot everything, and was simply Gabrielle Lys Delacour, though I knew deep down that I would never be simply Gabrielle again.

            A week passed.  I managed to keep myself as close to normal as was possible under the circumstances during the long, warm days.  When Susan or Mrs. Bones visited, I smiled and was painfully polite.  It was strange looking at Mrs. Bones and realizing I knew her as Christina Thurgood, a clumsy girl a year below me who no one had seemed to think belonged in Gryffindor.  Mr. Bones was the quiet, painfully shy Daniel Bones, the Hufflepuff that followed Christina with his eyes through his classes.  At times, I remembered their wedding, and knew that my mind was playing tricks on me, because Susan's parents had been married and she born years before me.  One night, when Fleur was being dragged out of the house to some sort of "small get-together" by Mrs. Bones, she dropped an ancient monogrammed handkerchief.  I wasn't at all surprised to see the initials were "CT".

            I woke up before dawn on the first of September, so excited my heart was beating quickly before I even jumped out of bed.  That night, I had relived the Sorting of the red-haired girl, still small and rather ugly at the time, tripping over the hem of her robe on her way up to the dais, making everyone laugh.  The dreams were beginning to fall into a strange sort of pattern.  The thoughts I had, the emotions I felt in a day, were often foreshadowed by the dreams of the night before.  This day, I would be beginning school.

            At Hogwarts, school wouldn't begin for hours yet, but Fleur would already be gone to prepare for welcoming the students.  I was left alone with my sister's assurances of the night before that she'd find some time to come home in the evening when the students were in bed.  She had not wanted to leave me alone on my first day, but Mrs. Bones had assured her that she'd take care of me.

            There was no primary school in Hogsmeade.  In the village, there were five children of the ages of six to ten, and we were to be ferried daily through the Floo Network to the home of an aging witch in a small Muggle town.  There, we would be attending a Muggle primary school.  The old witch had long laid rumors to rest by claiming that she accepted foster children.  My appearance would make no uproar, just as the disappearance this year of Priscilla Thompson, who would be beginning her first year at Hogwarts, would very likely not be noted.

            I buttoned up the green blazer and looked at myself in the full-length mirror on my wall.  A Muggle girl in a green pleated skirt, blazer, and tie looked back.  I placed the small round hat with a ribbon around it on my head and grinned at the reflection.  So different from my dream self in the plain black robes that were the norm at Hogwarts.  So different, too, from the way Fleur had looked year after year, leaving for Beauxbatons in a floating cloud of pale blue.  The stern green uniform, complete with pristine white knee socks and shiny new loafers was the exact antithesis of everything I had ever been, but somehow I felt rather comfortable despite all that.  Still, I took the wand that I had taken to putting under my pillow when I slept and put it in my pocket.

            I skipped down the stairs of the silent house, the dreams forgotten for a time.  A small bag containing my lunch was on the table, along with a buttered croissant and a not from Fleur telling me to have a nice day.  I smiled at my native language, which I so rarely saw anymore, and stuffed the croissant in my mouth.  Then I picked up the bag with lunch, running out the door.

            I stepped from my warm home into an alien world.  The fog had descended before dawn, and the second I stepped off of my porch, I lost it in the white mist, which seemed solid enough to touch.  The silence, too, was tangible.  All the morning sounds of the usually-busy village were muted by the thick, cold fog.  I shivered, realizing that two steps from my door, I had no idea where I was.

            I began to walk in the direction I remembered the Bones house being.  I was afraid of running into something, but although I saw indeterminate sorts of shadows from the corner of my eye, nothing came into my view.  Every time I turned towards one of the shadows, it would slip away, and even without the tingling I felt at the corner of my mind, I knew there was magic about.  Finally, I stopped walking, realizing I would get nowhere no matter what I did.  "You may as well come out," I said, barely noticing that my accent had slipped away.  My hand wrapped familiarly around the wand in my pocket.

            A figure materialized out of the mist.  He wore a cowled cloak, and my only clue to his identity was the lock of silver-blonde hair that had slipped out of the cowl and the malicious sparkle of cold eyes in the darkness of the hood.  A now-familiar drawling baritone I had never heard before then laughed softly.  "Not bad, little flower."

            "What do you want?" I asked.  I was afraid, but refused to show it.  My eyes sparkled in anger as I looked up at the mysterious stranger.

            He laughed again.  "Well, well.  My son said you have an accent, but it seems to have disappeared as well.  Perhaps that little failure has stumbled onto something at last."  He removed his hood, and I faced a man who would be handsome if his gray eyes were not so cold.  His hair seemed to ruffle for a moment in a wind I didn't feel.

            "I do not know any son of yours," I said.  "And I do not know you.  I'm late for school."

            He laughed, and patted me on the head.  I winced, for his touch sent an uncomfortable slimy feeling down my spine.  "You do not remember me yet," he said, a sound of regret in his voice.  "What a pity.  You're no good to us just yet, then.  After all, if you can't remember me, there is no way you would remember what the Great Lord wants to know."  He faded back into the fog.  "I'll be back for you, little flower.  Don't be late to school…"

            And very suddenly I found myself on the Bones porch in a slight drizzle and a soft, lifting fog, through which I could make out the usual morning activity of the village.  No one else seemed to have noticed the fog, and I felt my knees give out, clutching onto the doorframe and breathing very quickly.  Now that he was gone, I felt very suddenly small, alone, and defenseless.  The light drizzle of rain masked the tears on my face as I stood by the Bones door, too shocked to move.  My heart beat like a trapped animal's, and I did my best not to sob, because the courage that came upon me when I was that someone else was fading, and I was once again myself, and I was scared, and I missed my mother.

Somehow, even then, in the way I had always had, I knew it was this man who had killed her.

Mrs. Bones opened the door, and the comfortingly familiar sound of other children floated out into the foggy air from behind her comforting form.  She took one look at me and, tutting, pulled me inside, taking out her wand and tapping me gently on the top of the head.  "_Assiccare," she muttered, and I found myself dry and warm once again.  "Poor child, what horrible weather, but I daresay it's not raining in Godric's Hollow… it's much farther south than Hogsmeade."_

The name of the place tickled the back of my mind.  "Godric's Hollow?"

"Well yes, that is where Mrs. Longbottom lives… her grandson will be on the train to Hogwarts, and she enjoys having children in the house, though she would never admit to it."  She ushered me into the living room full of large, squishy furniture and bright pictures on the walls.  One of the other girls, a fifth grader starting her last year of primary school, waved to me and I halfheartedly waved back, wishing for my heartbeat to stop thundering in my ears, for I was warm, dry, and safe, and there was no reason to feel as though the blonde man's touch had marked me in a way that would keep me from ever being whole again.

"That's the last of you, then," Mrs. Bones said cheerfully.  "Just in time too; you should just make it to class if you hurry."

She handed a flowerpot full of Floo powder to the eldest of the children, a girl named Emily Carlisle.  "Godric's Hollow," she called out familiarly, and was gone into the emerald-tinted flames.

I was second to go.  I grabbed the Floo powder and winced at the color of the flames, for though I had traveled this way my entire life, I had never liked it, and the color of the flames when I tossed in the powder was no longer comfortable.  "Godric's Hollow," I whispered, and threw myself into the fire before letting myself think about it, feeling ridiculous fear even as I spun that the deceptively lovely green I saw even with eyes shut tight would swallow me, and I would never see the real world again.

It was a silly fear, one I had not had as a small child, one there should have been no reason for at all, but I breathed a sigh of relief as I went hurtling out of a fireplace in a dark, gloomy sort of parlor.  Stepping out of the flames, I drew a breath of relief even as the other children followed me out.

I told myself not to be silly, but inside my head, another awareness was again stirring, and I couldn't help but close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions as I looked out the window and beheld another house, this one in ruins, overgrown with vines, looking deserted, uninhabitable, and oh-so familiar.  _James, James, it was here, oh no, James, **Harry…**_

"Gabrielle?  _Gabrielle?"_

I shook my head, clearing the voice out.  "Oui?"  Emily sighed.

"We have to get to class," she pointed out.  "Come on, Mrs. Longbottom usually sleeps in… we're just expected to walk through.  You'll meet her on the way home."

I nodded and followed her out, my head reeling.  The voice was gone, as though it had never been, but a pain had settled over my heart.  "Gabrielle?  Are you all right?"

I looked up at her, feeling disoriented.  "Ah… oui," I lied.  "My 'ead, it is 'urting.  I may 'ave caught a cold?"

Emily nodded and squeezed my hand as we followed the other children out of the house and onto a neatly paved street.  It was a large village, bordering on a small town really.  The sky was overcast, but no rain fell here.  I glanced through the garden next to the Longbottom manor, just making out the ivy-covered cottage, and my heart contracted painfully.  I noticed that the children I saw in the street, many of them in the same green uniform I wore, were making a wide arc around the house.  "What is zat place?" I asked Emily.

"Oh, that…"  She cringed.  "It's the Potter house."

"Potter?  Like 'Arry Potter?"

"Yes," she replied shortly, arcing into the street in a way that suggested that she had done this many times before.

"Why will you not go near it?"

"Habit, I suppose," Emily shrugged.  "They say it might be haunted.  I could never bring myself to come near a place where people died… and You-Know-Who… well, I just couldn't."  She sped up her steps.  "Come on, we are going to miss class, and you don't want to be late on your first day."  She began to run, her long black braid flying out behind her.

I followed silently, my head whirling.  The blonde man this morning had also warned me about being late, and while I knew Emily had the best of intentions, I felt the familiar freezing stab of fear, remembering the morning and the ghostly figure in the fog.

The school day passed torturously and slowly.  Split up from the other Hogsemade children, I found myself in a classroom full of fourth-grade Muggles trading stories about their summer holiday, the boys pulling pigtails, and everyone in a state of frenzied merriment.  Feeling very alone and horribly frightened, I moved to the back of the room and slipped into a desk in the corner of the room.

The other students and the teacher took notice of me only an hour into the class.  The teacher enquired if I was another Longbottom fosterling, and I replied that I was.  There appeared to be no stigma attached to being such, because during lunch, several other children attempted to befriend me.  I had been sitting under a tree, quietly eating the lunch Fleur had prepared for me, trying to ignore the head and heart-ache that would not cease, it seemed, while I was in this town.  Three girls from my class, one with a ball in hand, approached me and asked if I wanted to play.  I didn't feel very friendly and finally had to pretend I didn't speak enough English.  They reluctantly left me for a noisy game of some sort, and I was left alone in the shadow of the tall cedar tree, feeling worse than ever.

Finished with my lunch, I stood up, brushing crumbs from my skirt.  Looking around the small school grounds, my eyes flicked back in one direction again and again.  The wand in my pocket felt burning, and I sighed, giving in.

I reached the Potter house in ten minutes.  The sky was still hanging low, and I felt a sense of sealed doom as my small hand brushed over the doorknob.  It didn't move at first, and I wanted to leave, but that _other in my mind would not leave me be until I entered, and so I pushed until my fingers were raw, and still the door didn't open.  Again, the other part of my mind suggested a solution, and I took out the wand, feeling comforted by its presence.  "Alohomora," I whispered, tapping the door.  It swung open._

I entered into a place of cobwebs and green-tinged darkness, for the thick growth of ivy and vines covered most of the windows.  My feet kicked up ghostlike little clouds of dust as I walked, my shiny black shoes soon covered with a thin film of gray.

There was a feeling of antiquated pain in my mind as I slipped from room to room, looking at furniture covered with sheets.  There were several plates piled in the kitchen sink, and a baby bottle lay on the floor.  It was as though people had quit their ordinary existence and simply ceased to be, and afterwards no one had dared to enter.  As it was, I knew that I was the first to enter in fifteen years, the number slipping helpfully into my mind when I wondered how long it had been.

The other presence had become silent the second I had stepped in, as though awed and horrified by what I was seeing.  I touched the banister, and a shiver ran over my spine as my hands dislodged dust.  I began to climb up the steep stairs.

There were three doors at the top.  I knew which one to take, and it swung silently open to admit me.

There was a baby cradle in the corner, the ruffled white canopy yellowing with age.  A pale blue baby blanket, a duck stitched into it meticulously by hand, lay on the floor.  I felt a feeling of horror and pain rise up in my chest, and fell to my knees on the floor to stop the dizziness, which seemed to be accompanied with a low, mournful keening.  I picked up the tiny blue blanket and, clutching it to my chest, began to cry softly as the wind beat the branches of a tree against the ivy-covered window and the green light seeped into the room.

I did not know what I was crying about.


	7. Chapitre Six: Un Histoire d’Amour de Con...

~*Ma Petite Lionne*~

Chapitre Six: Un Histoire d'Amour de Conte de Fées

So, the concept of me writing a story with no romance fell flat on its face, and here we are, with the single most romantic chapter yet, though the romance is between two characters in the past… that's right folks, the James/Lily portion of the fic, because you knew it had to be written.  Only one bit of French in here, and that's the title.  It reads "A Fairy-Tale Romance", in case you're wondering.  No footnotes!  Now… this chapter.  It's maddeningly long, hilarious at times, heart-wrenching at times.  I've added a few characters to the cast.  I am now seriously (Sirius' middle name is Orion, not Lee!) considering writing a Marauders-era fanfic with this same cast.  Review, and tell me if I should?  Cookies to anyone who can guess which character is taken from me!  And finally… the house-elf.  Fleur and Gabrielle get theirs in chapter seven, but to make me feel better about sort of promising her and not delivering, we meet the Longbottom house-elf instead, and she's cute!

This chapter is dedicated to Janna, who should greatly enjoy her trip to Candy-land.  You wanted to be in the same year as Lily and James… well, here you are!  Thanks, Janna, for keeping me sane when I needed to talk to someone.

Disclaimer: I own Lottie and Abigail and Candy and Velvet… and I _like them.  Must I really explain what I __don't own?_

I did not return to school that day.  Instead, I wandered around the dusty rooms like a ghost, feeling horrifyingly as though my other conscious would never let me leave, going over the same things, again and again, touching, almost remembering.  It was a dark afternoon, and the rainstorm was battering the roof of the house, reminding me uncomfortably of that last night at home.

            The rain stopped in mid-afternoon, and it was as though a spell cast over me was broken.  Ever since the night that had begun all of this, my mind had gone into hasty retreat when it rained, shutting me out from the world, trying to forget.  Now that the storm had ended, I had the strength to ignore the pleading of the "other" and leave the Potter house, using my wand to carefully lock the door behind me.

            With a presence of mind Fleur would have commended, I circled around the back of the school just as the bell sounded mournfully in the air.  Children spilled from the double doors, and I merged myself with the crowd, where I was quickly found by Emily, who took my hand and asked me how my first day was.

            "It was… all right," I replied at length.  It was very difficult for me to lie to Emily, because she had an air of easy trust about her that came from growing up in a perfect sort of family.

            The kind of family I had had before all this.

            "Ze teacher, she seems nice," I said, attempting to instill some truth into my answer, for she had been very kind for the half of the day I had actually attended class.

            "Miss Honey is wonderful," Emily cheerfully agreed, disregarding my obvious discomfort and barreling on blithely.  "I had her last year, you know.  I used to think I wanted to look just like her when I grew up… now I had rather look like your sister."

            I smiled tremulously.  "You would not be ze first to wish it so," I replied.  "Fleur is ze most beautiful woman I 'ave ever met… except my muzzer…"  I trailed off, an unhappy look on my face.

            Emily quickly put an arm around me in comfort.  "Gabrielle, I've always meant to ask: what happened?"

            Feeling horribly unhappy and fighting back the tears, I considered not answering.  But I felt that I owed her the truth after lying to her, so I sighed and retorted curtly, "Deas Eaters killed 'er.  We 'ad better 'urry inside."  I escaped from the comforting embrace and fled my unhappy memories by running as quickly as I could to the Longbottom house, my ears whistling from the speed.

            Needless to say, I was the first one back.  I stood by the rather daunting house, wondering if I should ring the bell, or wait until the others arrived.  This problem was solved for me when the door swung open of its own accord.  There was nobody behind it, until I chanced to look down to find a little creature garbed in a towel, whose ears were shaking in its earnestness.

            "Miss is back!" the house-elf squealed.  I had never heard one speak English before, and found it to be just as amusing as French.  Tuli is waiting and waiting for the children to return!  Mistress is waiting too!  'Tuli,' she says, 'Tuli, if those children come back to an empty house in this damp weather, you will find yourself sleeping under the beech tree outside.'  Tuli is always forgetting things, you know, and so Mistress is finding ways to make her remember."

            I smiled despite myself.  "Tuli, where is Meesees Longbottom?" I asked her.

            "Oh Mistress, she had to go to Diagon Alley on last notice, and she left Tuli to greet the children when they returned!  Tuli is so proud she did not forget!  Tuli is waiting for hours and hours in the parlor so that she does not fail Mistress' order again!  Mistress is so kind to Tuli, Tuli wishes to do everything just perfect!"

            Just then the others approached the house.  There was a chorused "'Lo, Tuli," from the older children, and a shrill giggle from the youngest one, who had not met her before.

            "Meesees Longbottom is gone to Diagon Alley," I quickly explained before Tuli could begin her speech about sleeping under trees.  "Tuli 'as been kind enough to greet us."

            "No worry, no worry at all, Miss!" Tuli squeaked cheerfully.  "Come in, come in!"  She ushered us inside, where we were met by a rather odd odor permeating the hall.

            "Er… Tuli?" Emily asked, making a face, "Did you happen to forget something in the kitchen while you were waiting for us?"

            Tuli's eyes, already the size of saucers, grew to even more gargantuan proportions.  "How is Tuli forgetting Mistress' dinner!?  Oh, Mistress will sack Tuli this time for sure!"  With that mournful statement, she ran to the kitchen, tripping over her towel several times in her earnestness.

            "What an 'andfull," I commented to the giggling others.  "I commend Meesees Longbottom's patience, non?"

            "Poor Tuli," replied Emily through her laughter.  "Well… come on; let's get going, then.  _She obviously won't have the time to escort us."_

            So we trooped back to the fireplace, following Emily's lead, and transported ourselves back into the waiting arms of Mrs. Bones, who had cooked a grandiose dinner for us, leaving me satisfied, full, and warm again, almost forgetting the misery of the previous afternoon.

            As soon as I came home, I collapsed on the bed.  I knew Fleur would be returning for a few hours tonight, but I was so drained, both physically and emotionally, that I would not be able to stay awake even had I wanted to.  I drifted out of consciousness and into dreams.

            "Potter!  You are, without a doubt, the most _revolting human being on the planet!  How __dare you?"  It took me a moment to realize I was the one that had shouted these words at a boy who looked much like Harry, doubled over in laughter at the moment, eyes screwed up tight and a wand in his hands._

            My other consciousness supplied readily the reason for my anger-my owl had just been transfigured into a bunny, with the statement "This pet suits a carrot-hair like you much better anyway!"  As he didn't look much older than ten or eleven, I was rather amazed at this feat of transfiguration, though the red haired girl whose body I was occupying at the moment showed no such sign of awe.  "Aw, c'mon, Carrots, can't you take a simple joke?"

            _"NO!" I shouted forcefully, grabbing the first thing I could find underhand-an Arithmancy textbook-and throwing it at him before fleeing up the stairs to my right._

            "Lil?  Are you all right?"  A concerned looking girl glanced up from a heavy tome and went back to reading.  Her name was Abigail Gordon, and she very rarely was seen without a textbook.  She was remarkably pretty, but apparently I didn't begrudge her the long, shiny black hair or wide, dark eyes.  She was a good friend.

            To me, not Lily, she looked very much like Emily.  I liked her on the spot, and wondered why I had never seen her in the dreams before.

            "So, what did he do _this time?" asked a cheerful voice from the direction of the window.  I turned and sighed, for the owner of the voice had magiked the glass away again, and was now sitting with her legs dangling off of the ledge.  Her, I had seen often.  If I recalled correctly, in Lily's later Hogwarts years, she spent much of her time attempting to capture the attention of the roguish Sirius Black.  _

"Lottie, get off of there, _please," said an exasperated Abigail, not even bothering to look up from her book.  "I'll owl your mother, and I __know how Mrs. Christianson gets when she's angry.  You'll be getting Howlers every day for a week.  Besides, there's a draft."_

Lottie sighed and jumped off the window into the room, her blonde curls bouncing, waving her wand at the glass and muttering something.  The glass sprung back into place, and she threw a pillow at Abigail.  "Why owl my mother?  It appears I have one right here.  At least you're not calling me _Charlotte yet."  Then sighing, she looked at me again out of curious blue eyes.  "So, Lily, m'dear, I repeat myself, what did he do this time?"_

"He turned Athena into a bunny rabbit," I said.  "I see that smile on your face!  It wasn't funny!"

"Was it at the very least a cute bunny rabbit?"  Candice Allen had just stuck her head into the room from the bathroom.  I threw a pillow at her too, narrowly missing as she jumped to get out of the way.  The mirror behind her reflected not only the back of her auburn head, but also the face of Velvet Lindley, who seemed to be busy holding her wand to her very upturned nose and muttering spell after spell.  I assumed she was still trying to give it a more dignified shape.

I sighed again.  "Candy, why is it you always joke about everything?  _Yes, it was a __very cute bunny rabbit, but that's not the __point!"_

"At least he didn't turn it into a rat," was Lottie's observation.  "Look on the bright side, Lily!"

"If you cad't turd her back, cad I have the buddy?" asked Velvet, her voice sounding muffled and rather stuffed up.

"Velvet, I think you've done something wrong," Candy sighed, and disappeared back into the bathroom, wand out. 

Abigail placed her book reverently on her bed, carefully smoothing the pages, then came up to me and gave me a hug.  "Lily, don't worry.  We'll turn her back; I've got just the spell, I read about it yesterday, luckily.  Don't let him get to you so badly!"

Lottie joined the hug from the other side.  "Cheer up, Lils, tonight we'll go and put toads in his underwear drawer, or something."

I let out a choked giggle, realizing I was very near crying.  I let the tears fall.  "I hate him," I whispered.  "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

"I know," Abigail said soothingly.

My head spun for a moment, and when it cleared, I found I was still in the same room.  Lottie, who looked older than I had last seen her, was sitting on Abigail's bed, arm around her, doing her best to console the crying girl.  Velvet, Candy and I were sitting on the floor, looking up at them.  I was clutching Abigail's hand tightly, and there was a sadness in the room that was almost maddening.

"I won't _let them take you!" Lottie said fiercely.  "They __can't."_

"They're her parents, Lottie," I said miserably, trying not to cry myself.  "You can't just inform them that we're confiscating their daughter.  How long, Abby?"  I rarely used this name-she didn't like it.  Abigail was more dignified, but when she was upset, she didn't mind the endearment.

"They'll let me finish out second year here," Abigail said, so softly I could barely hear her.  "They're moving this week, but they'll come back in June to pick me up from the Hogwarts Express."  She sniffled loudly.  "I don't _want to move to Bulgaria!"_

"We don't want you to move to Bulgaria either!" Lottie exclaimed.

"Whose homework will we copy?" Velvet hiccupped.  "Don't go!"

"Hush, Velvet," Candy said severely.

I suddenly got an idea.  "Why don't you come to school here anyway?  I mean, you'll be going to a boarding school in any case, all good wizarding schools are!  Why would your parents care where?"

She shook her head.  "I already tried, but the transfer to Durmstrang already went through.  Mum and Dad want me to learn Bulgarian, and I couldn't if I spent most of the year here.  I'm a pure-blood witch with outstanding grades, they were more than glad to take me.  It's a done deal, and Mum says I shouldn't argue, and I'll find new friends.  But there will never be anyone like _you."_

I joined her and Lottie on the bed and hugged her tightly.  "We'll always be best friends, Abby, the three of us," I promised.  "Lottie and I will write every week, won't we, Lottie?"

"Twice a week."

"I love you, girls," Abby sobbed into my shoulder.  "I'll write three times a week. Durmstrang will probably be horrid, anyway."

"At least we won't fight for Head Girl anymore," I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "_Lottie's certainly no competition."_

_"Hey!"  Lottie hit me over the head with Abigail's pillow, and the room quickly degenerated into flying feathers and shrieking giggles, the tears put aside for another day._

Time slipped by me again, and I was boarding a bright scarlet steam engine, very conscious of my robes.  I had gotten new ones over the summer, and discovered that, horror of all horrors, I was beginning to look like a girl.  Mum had been pleased, and my sister Petunia, who was a year older and had yet to grow, had snarled even more violently than usual at me.

There had been a letter from Abigail the week before, telling me that I had better beat "that nasty Narcissa Caligo" for Head Girl, now that she wasn't here to make sure both of us lost.  I missed my other best friend like crazy, and hoped to see Lottie soon so that we could cry in our compartment together.

Unfortunately, I was to have no such luck, for as I approached the steam engine, four heads, one of them very messy, stuck out of a nearby window.  "Look at that, Carrots got padded robes!" James called gleefully.  "Hey Carrots!  Your sister not kill you over the summer?  Too bad."

"Shove off, James," Remus Lupin told him exasperatedly.  He then turned and offered me a friendly smile.  "Hi Lily!  How was your summer?"

I was still burning in anger and shame over James' comment, but Remus was my friend, so I did my best to control my anger and answer civilly.  "At least one of you seems not to be a barbarian," I finally answered very primly.  "And my summer was very nice, Remus, thank you.  If it's not too much trouble, smack that idiot next to you for me, I'm afraid I can't reach from here."  Making a face at James, I flounced onto the train.

"And Lily begins third year with the last word.  Score-Lily: one, James: zero."

"Lottie!"  I shrieked and flew at her like a wild thing, knocking her on the floor outside the compartment I had been about to enter.  "I missed you!"

"I missed you more when you weren't constricting my ability to breathe," Lottie got out.  "C'mon, get off me, Lils.  I wanna go say hi to Sirius."

I rolled my eyes at her.  "Wasn't it 'any friend of James is an enemy of mine'?"

"That was last year!" she replied cheerfully.  "James isn't so bad, Lils, except to you!  And besides, you're friends with Remus, aren't you?"

"That's… not the point!"

She grinned.  "I believe that was an 'of course, say hello to Sirius all you want, I'll even come with you'?"

"Don't test your luck, Lottie," I said between clenched teeth.  "You can go visit the barbarians.  _I will stay here, where no one will call me Carrots or… or make fun of my robes!  As though I wanted to look like a girl!"_

Lottie choked back a laugh.  "It happens to the best of us, Lily-darling," she said, and slipped out of the compartment.

I was only alone in the compartment for a few minutes before Candy bounced in, Velvet following rather blindly behind her bumping very ungracefully into walls due to the large bandage covering her face.  "She got tired of trying to charm her nose into behaving," Candy explained, disgustedly, "and she got," she shuddered, "a _nose job."_

"Do you thidk Madab Pobfrey cad make this swelling go away?  I cad't see!"

"Serves you right, silly girl," I giggled.  "Your nose was just fine, only you didn't like it."

"I saw James on the way in," Candy said, eyes becoming starry.  "Oh, has he ever grown over the summer!  If I had the nerve, I would just-"

"Potter is none of my concern," I cut off neatly.  "You can 'just' throw him off a broom in Quidditch for all I care."

"Lottie's commentating this year, you know, since Southwood left.  She claims she's going to make everyone's ears pop.  Personally, I think she just wants to yell through a megaphone how good Sirius looks with his robes stretched against his-"

"Candy!  That's _enough!"_

"I wadt to see Sirius'-"

_"Velvet!"___

Time spun, but this time not very far, only a few months at best, as James, coming down the stairs from the dormitories in the near-dark, looked much the same as he had on the train to Hogwarts.

I had been studying late into the night, until everyone else had gone to bed, leaving only me in front of the common room fire.  "You still awake, Evans?"  He yawned, absently pulling on his pajamas, which were charmed to have little snitches flying around.

"Nice sleepwear, Potter," I countered.  "You'd almost think you were three."

"Hey, I didn't come down here to insult you," he raised his hands in a quick surrender.  "No, really."

"That's a cute joke, Potter.  Is one of your lackeys recording this?"

"_Really, Evans."_

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised." I said acidly.

"Hey, I haven't even called you Carrots yet tonight!"

"You have now, haven't you?"

James blanched.  "No!  I was just trying to-"

I waved him off.  "Never mind, forget I brought it up.  What do you want, Potter?"

He came the rest of the way down the stairs and sat down on the other side of my couch.  "I… just… wanted to talk."

I raised an eyebrow at him.  "Talk," I repeated incredulously.

"Yes, just to talk.  I can't sleep anyway, so…" He squirmed under my scrutiny.

"All right, Potter," I agreed.  "Talk, then."

He seemed surprised that I agreed, and it took him a few moments to gather his thoughts before he spoke again.  "Er… have you heard from Abigail lately?"

I sighed, for this subject was a sore one.  I had written every week as promised, but… "She hasn't written since the beginning of the school year, though it's nearly December.  I suppose they're keeping her busy at Durmstrang… last letter I had from her was the week before school."

"Was she well when he wrote?" he asked politely.  "Of all _your friends, Evans, she was certainly the most decent one.  I had thought she would be Head Girl, you know."_

"_I'm going to be Head Girl, Potter," I snapped.  "And thanks ever __so much for the comments about my friends.  Perhaps Velvet is a bit silly, but Lottie is wonderful, and so is Candy, and despite her silliness, Velvet is too, unless she wants to copy my homework, and at least I don't hang around in a group that turns people's owls into bunnies, and puts frogs in others' beds, and-"_

"I do believe it was your friend Lottie who put the toads in my underwear drawer first year," he said with a bit of a grin.  "Lottie again who charmed my mirror to scream when I looked into it, Lottie who turned my robes pink, Lottie-"

My ears were burning red.  Some of those, actually, had been my doing, or at the very least our communal effort.  The charm on the mirror had been _difficult.  "Point made, Potter," I said through gritted teeth._

He grinned in his most charming way, the way that had Candy sighing over him at every given opportunity.  "We seem to be two of a kind, Evans."

I shuddered.  "For heaven's sake, don't compare me to the likes of _you, Potter."_

He actually looked hurt, which surprised me.  "I don't think you really hate me, Evans," he proclaimed.

"Don't I?" I asked.  "_You certainly hate __me."_

His answer was quick and entirely surprising.  "No I don't."

"You don't?" I asked, bewildered.

"No," he said, all the bravado gone from his voice and the smile from his face.  "Actually, I… I…"

"You what?" I asked impatiently.

I didn't have a second's warning as he leaned across the couch, kissed me very quickly, then fled up the stairs to the dormitories, me staring after him as though he had been possessed.  I pinched myself, _hard.  That apparently didn't help.  "What on… blast!  How am I supposed to study __now?"_

Then the scenes from the life of Lily Evans began to come in rapid succession.  James sent me flowers, I blushed and refused them.  Lucius Malfoy sent me more expensive flowers.  I cursed and refused them.  Candy got angry with me, and I informed her she could have him if she liked.  She redoubled her efforts, and for most of fourth year, I was left alone with Velvet while Candy and Lottie chased James and Sirius, respectively.

Fifth year began with the first letter from Abigail in ages.  She said she had met a boy two years older than her named Phillipe Lestrange, and although his father was French, his mother was English and it was wonderful to speak English with someone again.  He was good-looking, and courteous, and Head Boy to boot, and she was _so happy.  I had never known Abigail to gush about anything and there was a sense of aloof  self-pride that she had not had.  Phillipe, she said, had had her over to his personal estate in the eastern part of England.  She supposed she __could have come to visit, but she and Phillipe had been so __busy that she just hadn't had time.  She signed the letter with "Sincerely", and I moped for three days after realizing the sweet, soft-spoken girl I had known was gone._

And everywhere, now, I heard the name "Voldemort", said in hushed voices, soon relegated to "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", and then "You-Know-Who."

Lottie returned to my side fifth year, leaving "Operation Sirius" to the times that I spent studying furiously for the O.W.L.s, determined to earn a better score than James.

Astronomy had ever been my weakness, and I spent nights up in the highest tower of the castle, trying to memorize the night sky.  One night, I thought I saw a silvery stag, a huge black dog, and a wolf running together under the full moon.  I dismissed it as a hallucination brought on by too little sleep.

Voldemort grew in power, and the Ministry seemed helpless in the face of his assault.  Velvet came to me in tears, for her Muggle parents, simple, helpless, and rather hapless hippies, had been killed in a "mysterious accident" that we all knew had been  one of Voldemort's Muggle slayings.  Velvet cried on my shoulder, for the last thing she had said to her parents was an angry "I'm _glad I'm going to Hogwarts for most of the year, that way I don't have to deal with freaks like you."_

I made friends with, of all people, Peter Pettigrew.  He asked my help in Potions one night, tears on his face, and we worked until even James had given up and gone to bed.  From that time on, Peter was my wide-eyed admirer.  The one time Severus Snape made a greasy sort of remark about me "really growing into those robes of yours", Peter actually punched him.  I had to take him to the hospital wing afterwards with a couple of broken ribs, but he _had tried._

Lottie commentated at Quidditch, hilarious and daring, causing the teachers to discuss if perhaps replacing her wouldn't be best, seeing as she was sometimes quite a bit _too shameless.  The students all loved her, though, and she was never repudiated from her station._

Voldemort killed Auror after Auror, and outdoor activities were banned, leaving us cooped up in the castle with our fears.  I studied all the harder so I didn't have to think about it.

The last night before O.W.L.s, I spent in the tower, cramming for astronomy for all I was worth.  Hearing footsteps behind me, I whirled around to find absolutely no one.  Then there was a ripple in the air, and James was pulling off an Invisibility Cloak.  I was shocked enough that he had one that I just stood there, mouth gaping.  "You haven't talked to me all year, Lily," he said, softly and accusingly.  "And every time I try to talk to you, you barricade yourself with Candy.  That's not fair."

"Why isn't it fair?" I challenged, blushing at his use of my first name.  "I'm sure you're over that ridiculous crush on me by _now, aren't you?"_

He let his cloak fall to the floor as he came towards me, his dark eyes shining behind his glasses.  "Yes," he admitted, and my traitorous heart gave a pang.  "I no longer have a crush on you, Lily."

"Well then-"

"I love you."

The words died on my lips and I stared at him, utterly flabbergasted and incapable of movement as he put his hands on my cheeks and tipped my face up to kiss me.  It wasn't the kind of kiss we had shared third year.  This was long, slow, and made me feel as though all my bones had turned to water.  Once he let me go, I stared at him, silent, for a long time.

"I had to do that once before I left," he said.  "My parents were killed by Voldemort last week."  I blanched, for I had probably read about it in the Daily Prophet.  But half of the newspaper was now an obituary.  "I'm leaving for their funeral as soon as I finish my exam, and I might get sent away to Gran's place in Albania.  I might end up in Durmstrang, and I just wanted to let you know before I left…"

I was silent, not knowing what to say.  He took my silence as anger, because he sighed and said, "I'm sorry.  Good-bye, Lily."

I was left in the tower alone, and when I finally made my way down to bed, I cried myself to sleep.  The next day, exams passed in a daze, and I did my best not to look at him between questions.  I didn't care about beating him anymore.

After exams, he was gone.  At dinner, I didn't see him, and my heart broke.  I ran upstairs to escape from all the people, and Lottie followed, wrapping me in a tight embrace.  "I love him," I whispered.  "I love him, I love him, I love him."

"I know," Lottie replied, stroking my hair.

The summer between fifth and sixth year, I was miserable.  The fact that Petunia brought a boy home didn't help matters.  The fact that this Vernon Dursley leered at me, found out I was a witch, and then treated me as though I was below human didn't help at all.  I preferred his disgust to his interest, but it still hurt.

Mum got very sick, and none of the doctors she went to seemed to be able to cure her.  She was bedridden by the time I left for Hogwarts.  I boarded the train with a heavy heart, feeling as though my life as I knew it was over.  I saw Remus, Sirius, and Peter, but no James.

Going into an empty compartment, I plopped into my seat and did my best not to cry.  This was the first year I had stopped wearing my braids, and my hair had darkened.  It was a lovely deep red, hanging in glossy waves past my waist.  It was beautiful, but I hated it at that moment, because even if I were to see James again, he couldn't call me Carrots anymore.

I had just worked myself into a good depressive slump when the door to my compartment slid open, and there stood James, a funny sort of smile on his face, and said "Well, I guess I can't call you Carrots anymore."

I flung myself at him and began to cry, clutching him as though he wasn't real.  "James… James… James…" I repeated over and over, so immensely glad to see him that I couldn't get anything else out.

"I take this to mean you're not angry about mre kissing you?" he asked.

"I'll only be angry  if you keep asking stupid questions _instead of kissing me."_

"Fair enough," he said, and I melted into his embrace, blissfully unaware of Sirius' wolf-whistles or Candy's stricken face when they came upon us some indeterminate time later.

My life came back together in pieces.  The owl that brought news of my mother's death in October wasn't unexpected, but if James hadn't been there, I might have lost my mind.  As it was, he kept me sane, and even Candy forgave me after a while, though she was still sad over losing the battle.  That year's Head Boy, Frank Longbottom, had been looking at her wistfully for a year, but had stayed away because she seemed to be "Potter's territory".  Now that James was obviously no longer a threat, he showered her with gifts and flowers.  Candy seemed rather flattered and cheered up quite a bit.

Narcissa Caligo and I crossed academic swords all year, for both of us were determined to be Head Girl.  At times she would score higher, and at times I would, but the results were always so close that even as the year drew to a close, I was not at all sure I had won.

Stepping off the Hogwarts express, I stepped into wreckage as soon as I had passed the barrier inton the Muggle station, holding James' hand, hoping to introduce him to Dad.  That was not to be, however.  There had been several explosions across the station, and no less than ten people lay dead by the barrier between platforms nine and ten.  It was hard with all the blood, but in one of them I recognized my father.

I spent that summer at Lottie's.  She lived with her strict mother, who was very exasperated at her daughter, this year because Lottie had cut off all her long curls, claiming she was more comfortable in the heat this way.  Mrs. Christianson did seem to like me, however, and fussed over me much more often than she fretted at Lottie.  Lottie was grateful, and I found myself enjoying my summer despite everything, surprised and amazed at the lifestyle of a pure-blood wizarding family.  I got owls from James daily, and once, the four Marauders, as they had been calling themselves since third year, came to visit us on a flying motorcycle, which Sirius explained proudly as being the reason his mother didn't want to see his face for the rest of the summer.

James saw fit to inform me then that he was an illegal Animagus, and the entire story of Remus and his lycanthropy came out.  I think Remus feared we would hate him, but instead both Lottie and I threw ourselves at him, hugging him tightly for so long that James warned him to "stop pawing my girlfriend if you want to keep your nose that shape, Moony."  That comment reminded me of Velvet, and I laughed as I sent her a quick owl asking how she was and whether she wanted to meet us at Diagon Alley.  She never replied.

The letter naming me Head Girl arrived the week before school began, just as I had given up hope.  My happiness was dampened by the Daily Prophet article that stated that an "accident" in Gringotts that involved a dragon somehow getting loose, had killed five witches and wizards, among them seventh year student Velvet Lindley.

And then we were boarding the train, now only six of us, wondering silently what the world would be like now, with people disappearing right and left.  It was a relief to see Candy on the train, though she was obviously in a lot of pain from losing her best friend.

Quidditch was allowed again, and Lottie put her heart into commentating, as it was her last year doing so.  James never let go of my hand, and Sirius jokingly asked us when the wedding was.  I blushed and James grinned and blushed, and I didn't know what he was grinning about until he asked me to marry him at Christmas.

I agreed, and the rest of the year I spent floating in the clouds, happy despite everything that was going on.  Head Girl and Head Boy, the two best-looking students in the school, as Candy was quick to announce.  It was one of those fairytale-come-true romances, and I spent half my time studying for N.E.W.T.s, and the other half planning a grandiose wedding.

Too soon came the end of our Hogwarts years, and suddenly it was time to go out into the world, to make some sort of difference.  James and I signed up for Auror training, along with Sirius.  Remus found himself a job as a clerk at the Ministry.  It wasn't ideal, but with his condition, it was the best he could hope for, indignant as we all were.  Lottie was recruited into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Candy expressed a desire to travel a bit before settling down.

Frank Longbottom met us cheerfully on our first day of Auror training, and we became his protégés before we knew what he was about.  The training was hard, and I came back to Lottie's nightly exhausted.

There was an official wedding announcement from Bulgaria, announcing the union of Phillipe and Abigail Lestrange.

Candy married Frank Longbottom in the spring.

James and I got married the next summer, and it wasn't too long before I found myself pregnant with a baby boy, one I named Harry after my father, promising myself that the next child would be Alanna, as my mother had been.  He played with Candy's little boy, Neville, as often as we could get together.

Sirius finally noticed Lottie, and they dated for three lovely months, both of them as happy as could be.    Sirius confided to James that he was considering proposing, and James and I chorused "It's about bloody _time!"  Sirius asked Lottie to meet him in the fanciest restaurant in London one night, and was a complete nervous wreck.  He didn't even play with Harry, though he was by far my son's favorite person._

He arrived at the restaurant first that night, and waited for three hours.  Lottie didn't come.  He went searching for her, only to find the Dark Mark floating over her flat.  She had been getting dressed, for her room was a flurry of colorful clothing laid out on every available surface, and her face was glowing with happiness even in the death she had not seen coming.

And then, we were only five.

But James and I made too much of a difference, and too soon the Dark Lord had put a price on our heads.  And then we hid in a tiny house in Godric's Hollow, and Sirius offered Peter up as Secret Keeper to throw the Death Eaters off our track.   I had to talk James into it, for I rather liked little Peter after all those years at Hogwarts.  The spell was performed, and Harry celebrated his first birthday.  And then, one cold night in October…

I jumped up in bed, sweat beading my face, tears falling from my eyes.  So that was what had happened.  James.  I now knew who James was, and I now knew why that little house in Godric's hollow hurt me so much.  And I remembered sewing that little duck onto the blanket, and I remembered my pain and my fear before the world went green.  And the pain and the fear _were mine, and not another's, as I had thought.  Lily Evans… Lily Potter… we were one and the same…_

And poor, poor Harry.  He had had such lovely parents, and he had never known them.  And Lottie, and Velvet, Candy… and Abigail was in Azkaban, Sirius was a murderer on the _run from Azkaban, and Remus was hell knows where, and Peter, that traitor, was dead._

And I was just a little nine year old girl with the mentality of an adult woman, and I felt Lily's pain at losing James, a pain that made me want to lie down and die.  And I felt my own pain, pain for Harry, poor poor Harry… 

And I knew, very suddenly, what it was Voldemort wanted from me.

And the sun rose, and I dragged myself out of bed and into uniform.  It was time to go back to Godric's Hollow, it was time to be Gabrielle again, it was time to learn things my other consciousness already knew.  Fleur would be back at Hogwarts, the school I now knew like the back of my hand.  And I would go to Godric's Hollow.

And there, I would find answers.


End file.
